Daniel  QuoRM 

7-4  AND   HIS    ^. 

Mjemgious  JS/qttojvs 


mi 


Rev.  Mark  QuyPearse. 


tihv<xxy  of  t:he  theological  ^eminarjp 

PRINCETON  .  NEW  JERSEY 

FROM  THE  LIBRARY  OF 
ROBERT  ELLIOTT  SPEER 


1  13 
P36  ID 


^S^^^^^ML^ 


V 


"There,  bending  over  liis  lapstone,  hammering, 
stitching,  always  busy,  sat  Brother  Dan'el  ;  ever, 
•oo.  with  a    book   before    him."  <>^    r.^      >        ' 


DANIEL   QU 


AND 


HIS  RELIGIOUS  NOTIONS. 


BY 

MARK  GUY  PEARSE, 

Author  of  "Mistbr   Horn   and   His   Friends,"   etc. 


NEW  YORK: 
PHILLIPS    <&    HUNT. 

CINCINNATI: 
CRANSTON    S    ST  OWE. 

1884. 


PREFACE 


MY  old  friend  Daniel  Quorm,  of  Penwin- 
nin,  is  a  good  specimen  of  one  service 
that  Methodism  has  rendered  to  Great  Britain, 
a  service  that  of  late  has  come  to  be  more 
generally  acknowledged.  In  all  the  Methodist 
system  there  perhaps  is  nothing  that  has  aided 
her  more  than  her  power  to  develop  the  gifts  of 
her  lowliest  members  ;  finding  some  sphere  in 
which  to  turn  to  advantage  the  various  abili- 
ties of  her  people.  The  thoughtful  miner, 
the  prayerful  plowman,  the  godly  laborer,  the 
working  men  of  every  class,  have  always  been 
among  her  most  successful  leaders  and  local 
preachers.  In  hundreds  of  towns  and  villages 
men  of  the  humblest  position  are  doing  the 
highest  work  of  the  Church,  in  the  Sunday- 
school,  in  the  pulpit,  and  in  the  society-class. 

The  scantiest  acquaintance  with  Methodism 
makes  one  familiar  with  many  such.     Who  that 


6  Preface. 

has  read  any  thing  of  this  people  but  has  heard 
of  Silas  Told,  the  slaver's  boy,  and  his  work  at 
Newgate  ?  or  who  has  not  been  stirred  up  to 
start  afresh  by  the  story  of  the  good  Carvosso  ? 
Who  has  not  heard  of  the  -village  philosopher, 
Samuel  Drew,  mending  shoes  and  working  out 
his  thoughts  upon  the  immortahty  of  the  soul ; 
of  him  who  as  a  prince  had  power  with  God 
and  men  and  prevailed — the  village  blacksmith, 
Sammy  Hick ;  of  Billy  Dawson,  the  wonderful 
Yorkshire  farmer,  who  could  sway  the  people 
like  the  summer  breeze  that  swept  over  his  own 
golden  grain,  whose  words  could  play  with  cloud 
^nd  sunshine  across  the  listening  hosts,  and 
who,  thrusting  in  the  sickle,  saw  hundreds  of 
sheaves  gathered  safely  for  the  Lord  with  shouts 
of  harvest  home  ;  of  the  Lincolnshire  thrasher, 
dear  good  old  Richardson,  who  could  so  deftly 
ply  the  flail  in  the  service  of  the  heavenly  Mas- 
ter ?  The  ranks  even  of  the  ministry — in  this 
like  the  Church  of  Rome — have  been  perhaps 
most  richly  adorned  by  men  of  humble  origin. 

Dan'el's  beloved  mother  Methodism  is  much 
troubled  just  now  by  a  host  of  physicians  who 
would  persuade  her  that  she  is  ill.  Some  have 
written  learned  prescriptions  for  her  in  proper 


F-REFACE.  7 

professional  form.  Many  others  shake  their 
heads  with  gloomy  foreboding,  and  prescribe 

their  home-made  remedies,  foretelling  her 
speedy  decease  miless  she  will  swallow  their 
simples.  They  say  that  she  has  lost  her  vigor, 
(she  U'Sed  to  get  up  at  five  in  the"  morning) — 
that  her  mind  is  not  so  clear  as  it  was,  that  her 
tongue  is  getting  out  of  order,  that  her  heart 
suffers  from  weakness,  if  not  from  actual  dis- 
ease. Some  say  that  she  wraps  herself  up 
more  than  she  did,  has  a  daintier  appetite,  and 
takes  too  much  care  of  herself;  others,  that 
she  is  not  particular  enough  with  whom  she 
associates,  and  that  she  should  live  more  as 
becomes  her  very  respectable  position ;  others 
talk  of  old  age,  that  her  sight  is  growing  dim, 
her  hand  becoming  feeble,  and  her  natural  force 
abated. 

Bless  her,  the  dear  old  mother  !  why  if  she 
had  not  more  common  sense  than  many  of  her 
physicians  she  would  before  this  have  taken  to 
her  bed  and  made  her  last  will  and  testament. 
Let  her  alone.  She  wants  from  her  children, 
not  the  presumption  that  wearies  her  with  good 
advice,  but  their  hearty  love,  their  confidence, 
and  their  devotion.     Let  her  alone — give  her 


8  Preface. 

only  room  for  plenty  of  exercise,  and  let  her 
sons  cleave  to  her  good  old-fashioned  ways — to 
the  old-fashioned  simple  faith  in  Christ,  the  old* 
fashioned  entire  consecration  to  God,  the  old- 
fashioned  burning  love  for  souls — and  her  most 
glorious  days  are  yet  to  come.  She  knows,  as 
well  as  ever  she  did,  how  to  use  the  talents  that 
God  intrusts  her  with,  and  cares  very  little 
about  position,  or  rank,  or  wealth,  so  long  as 
her  sons  can  wield  with  a  strong  arm  the  ham- 
mer of  the  word.  She  has  an  unwithered  faith 
in  the  sword  of  the  Spirit.  Some,  perhaps, 
may  daintily  inscribe  it  with  chaste  ornamenta- 
tion ;  some  may  set  it  with  flashing  diamonds 
and  costly  work;  some  may  enrich  it  with 
golden  hilt,  and  labor  to  make  it  glisten  with 
an  exquisite  polish,  and  she  thanks  God  for 
these  "  cunning  workmen  ; "  but  she  holds  them 
as  worth  very  little  who  cannot  grasp  it  with  a 
mighty  grasp,  and  with  a  keen  eye  and  a  quick 
hand  thrust  it  up  to  the  hilt,  and  force  the 
enemies  to  cry  for  mercy  in  the  dust. 


0  O  I^T  T  E  N  T  S 


Chatteb 


Pass 


I.  Brother  Quorm n 

II.  The  Old  Clock 19 

III.  "My  Mother's  Bible" 27 

IV.  Brother  Quorm's  Prejudice 38 

V.  Brother  Quorm  at  Class 44 

VI.  Brother  Dan'el  on  "Slow  and  Sure" 5a 

VII.  "It's  the  Lord's  Will,  you  Know" 58 

VIII.  "Catchin'  'em  with  Guile" 75 

IX.  "Prayin'  Breath  is  Neyer  Spent  in  Vain  "    8- 

X.  "  A  Talk  to  the  Lambs  " 9^ 

XL  "Trustin"    Him    where   we    cannot   trace 

Him" i*^ 

XII.  Dan'el's  Notion  of  a  Class-meeting 126 

XIII.  Dan'el's    Notions     about    Searching    the 

Scriptures ^37 

XIV.  On  Two  Ways  to  Heaven I55 

XV.  On  Winning  Souls ^73 

XVI.  On  Hearing  the  Word •••  187 


|llttstralx0n 


Uncle  Dan'el  in  his  Shop. 


DANIEL   QUORM 


CHAPTER  I. 

BROTHER     QUORM. 

Y    old   friend   Dan- 
iel Quorm — Broth- 
er   Dan'el,   as   he 
was    called  —  was 
the   village    shoe- 
maker, the  Meth- 
odist   "  class  lead- 
er," and  the  "  soci- 
ety steward."     As 
hard-headed  as  the 
rounded    lapstone 
on  which  he  ham- 
mered all  day  long, 
as  sharp  and  quick 
as  his  shining  awl, 
as  obstinate  in  holding  his  own  as  his  seasoned 
shoe  leather  ;  yet,  withal,  Brother  Dan'el  had  a 


12  Daniel  Quorm. 

heart  so  kind,  so  wise,  so  true,  that  like  the 
hammer  it  only  beat  to  do  good,  and  like  his 
awl  and  thread  it  was  always  trying  to  strengthen 
some  poor  soul  that  had  got  worn  in  the  rough 
ways  of  life.  By  some  process  not  yet  discov- 
ered, the  very  tools  that  lay  about  him  had 
come  somehow  to  partake  of  their  master's 
character. 

Dan' el  lived  in  the  village  of  Penwinnin,  a 
cluster  of  miners'  cottages  some  three  miles 
from  the  circuit-town  ;  nor  would  it  be  difficult 
to  trace  in  a  hundred  features  of  the  place 
all  the  chief  points  that  struck  one  about  Brother 
Dan'el. 

You  passed  high  heaps  of  stones  on  either 
side  the  way,  the  refuse  of  the  mine  workings, 
giving  to  all  a  wild  and  desolate  look.  You 
stepped  across  little  streams  that  had  just  been 
pumped  from  great  depths,  and  were  yet  warm, 
(Our  poor  world  has  a  heart  in  it,  they  say. 
Alas !  that  it  should  be  so  far  down.)  You 
went  under  clanking  chains,  that  stretched  from 
the  engine-house  away  to  the  shaft,  and  thence 
down  in  the  mysterious  gloom.  You  met  men 
dressed  in  suits  of  flannel  stained  a  dull  ocher- 
ish  red,  with  a  candle  hanging  from  the  shoulder, 


Brother  Qtcorm.  13 

and  another  stuck  in  front  of  the  hard  can- 
vas hat,  ready  to  light  them  on  their  perilous 
journey. 

Now  and  then  there  were  breaks  in  these 
stony  heaps,  and  one  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
steep  cairn  that  rose  beyond,  purple  with  heather, 
and  brilliant  with  the  fragrant  furze,  and,  like 
an  old  weather-beaten  castle,  a  pile  of  granite 
rocks  crowned  the  summit.  Or  else  on  the  other 
side,  the  break  gave  a  peep  at  the  valley  and  its 
red  river,  winding  its  way  to  the  blue  Atlantic 
that  stretched  beyond  the  headland. 

Every  body  in  the  place  could  tell  you  where 
Dan'el  Quorm   lived.     You   reached  the   little 
thatched  cottage,  crowned  by  luxuriant  masses 
of  the  yellow  stone-wort,  and  all  girt  about  with 
fuchsias,  while  the  dainty  little  *' mother-of-mill- 
ions"  crept   over  the  stone  fence  that  inclosed 
it.     Here,  without  board  or  writing,  a  hundred 
**  signs  "  proclaimed  the  shoemaker's  residence. 
The  window-sash  was  filled  with  all  that  belongs 
to  the  art  and  mystery  of  cobbhng,  while  in  the 
seat  below  were  crowded  odds  and  ends  in  that 
confusion  which  is  dear  to  the  true  worker,  let 
proverbial  philosophy  say  what  it  will.     There 
were  the  lasts  and  awls,  the  heel-taps-  and  leather 


14  Daniel  Quorm. 

parings,  the  hob-nails  and  sprigs,  the  cobbler's 
wax,  and  that  mysterious  half  of  a  cocoa-nut 
shell  with  a  little  bit  of  grease  that  never  got 
more  or  less. 

There,  bending  over  his  lapstone,  hammering, 
stitching,  always  busy,  sat  Brother  Dan'el ;  ever, 
too,  with  a  book  before  him.  We  could  almost 
guess  its  title,  for  the  stock  is  limited,  and  the 
reading  is  a  slow  process,  carefully  digesting 
each  sentence  as  it  comes.  The  out-and-out 
favorite  of  all,  Sunday  and  week-day,  is  Wesley. 
There  the  volumes  stand  upon  a  shelf  above  the 
door — the  "Notes,"  the  "Sermons,"  the  "Jour- 
nals," and  beside  them  two  or  three  odd  volumes 
of  the  "Christian  Library."  Jeremy  Taylor's 
"  Holy  Living  and  Dying  "  is  the  most  enriched 
with  traces  of  soiled  thumb  and  forefinger. 
There,  too,  is  "  Josephus,"  and  TrefFry's  "  Eter- 
nal Sonship,"  relieved  by  smaller  volumes  of 
Methodist  biography. 

They  have  passed  away  now,  that  old  race  of 
preachers,  and  a  passionate  devotion  to  their 
memory  inspires  thousands  of  the  English- 
speaking  race  the  wide  world  over.  We  recall 
them  for  a  moment  that  we  may  render  tribute 
to  one  phase  of  their  work  that  is  specially  to 


Brother  Quorm.  15 

t)e  remembered  in  these  days  of  demand  for 
national  education.  Not  many  years  ago,  in 
country  towns  and  villages,  the  chief  supply  of 
books  of  every  sort  was  through  the  preacher 
The  monthly  book-parcel  was  quite  an  event. 
With  saddle-bags  well  filled  the  preachers  went 
their  rounds,  eagerly  greeted  in  homes  to  which 
they  brought  the  only  reading.  From  this 
source  it  was  that  Dan'el  obtained  his  select 
library,  and  his  knowledge  of  many  scores  of 
books  that  he  had  never  seen,  but  of  which  he 
had  heard  from  the  preacher. 

Here,  then,  aproned,  and  in  shirt  sleeves,  sits 
Brother  Dan'el.  A  face  that  we  can  recall  as 
easily  as  if  we  had  but  just  left  the  shoemaker's 
shop — as  entirely  original  as  his  opinions.  We 
see  it  still :  that  round  bullet-head  with  its  thick 
hair,  which  would  not  be  smoothed  down  over 
his  forehead,  but  stood  persistently  on  end  in 
an  unruly  and  altogether  un-Methodistical  fash- 
ion ;  that  forehead,  straight  and  narrow,  seamed 
and  furrowed  with  deep  wrinkles  ;  the  bristling 
eyebrows,  and  under  them  the  broad-rimmed 
spectacles,  covering  on  one  side  a  green  patch, 
(an  accident  in  boyhood  had  hopelessly  finished 
the  work  of  that  eye,)  while  on  the  other  side 


i6  Daniel  Quorm. 

peered  the  silent  partner,  generally  half  over 
the  broad  silver  rim ;  a  sharp,  quick,  busy  eye, 
that  looked  as  if  it  were  perfectly  aware  that  it 
had  to  do  business  for  two,  and  meant  to  do  it 
thoroughly  ;  the  short,  broad  nose,  "  tip-tilted," 
perhaps,  but  by  no  means  "  like  the  petal  of  a 
flower  ;  "  the  long  upper  lip,  and  then  the  little 
mouth  pursed  together  as  if  it  were  always  go- 
ing to  whistle,  and  lengthwise  on  each  side  ran  the 
deep  furrows,  draining  into  themselves  the  shal- 
lower rivulets  and  rills  of  wrinkles  that  crossed 
the  face  in  every  direction. 

What  a  life  of  consistent  devotion  he  lived  ! 
His  religion  was  certainly  theological ;  fiercely 
so  sometimes,  as  even  Fletcher  could  be  in  his 
polemics  ;  a  garrisoned  city,  full  of  defenses 
and  sharp  definitions,  of  points  and  proofs.  Yet 
it  was  as  certainly  the  unswerving  service  of 
God  as  that  which  was  dearer  than  life  ;  it  was 
the  hearty  cleaving  of  his  whole  nature  to  the 
Redeemer,  and  a  quiet  joy  in  him  ;  as  if  within 
the  buttressed  walls  there  lay  a  garden  of  the 
Lord,  well  kept  and  dressed,  wherein  grew  the 
tree  of  life,  and  where  often  "  the  voice  of  the 
Lord  "  was  heard,  walking  in  "  the  cool  of  the 
day." 


Brother  Quorm.  ly 

What  a  world  of  quiet  humor  lay  in  him,  and 
what  a  world  of  shrewd  common-sense  !  Now 
and  then  there  was  perhaps  a  tinge  of  bitter- 
ness, a  tone  of  sarcasm.  Most  folks  readily 
forgave  it,  and  as  readily  accounted  for  it.  Bet- 
sey Quorm,  his  wife,  was  dead.  She  had  never 
become  more  than  plain  Betsey  Quorm ;  not 
good  enough  to  be  "  sister,"  not  respected 
enough  to  be  "  Mrs.,"  she  had  lived  and  died 
and  was  buried,  as  her  tombstone  testified,  plain 
Betsey  Quorm.  And  a  thorn  in  the  flesh  she 
had  been  to  Dan'el  almost  all  the  days  of  their 
wedded  life.  Perhaps  that  was  the  worst  of  it — 
that  she  was  only  a  thorn  iji  the  flesh-  -that  with- 
out doing  or  saying  any  great  harm  that  one 
could  take  hold  of,  all  she  said  and  did  somehow 
pricked  and  fretted  and  rankled  and  festered 
in  a  very  unpleasant  fashion.  Only  a  thorn ! 
Why,  is  there  any  thing  else  that  can  compare 
with  it }  A  man  may  be  a  very  master  of  all 
sword-practice,  a  champion  with  the  quarter- 
staff  and  the  cudgel,  but  what  are  these  against 
a  thorn  ?  The  law  redresses  injury  and  wrong, 
but  what  legal  skill  can  touch  a  thorn  .?  A  coat 
of  mail  may  defy  the  tough  lance  that  thrusteth 
sure,  but  what  defense  has  a  man  against  a  thorn 


i8  Daniel  Quorm. 

in  the  flesh  ?  Little  wonder  that  her  influence 
lingered  yet  in  a  flavor  or  bitterness  that  be- 
trayed itself  at  times,  especially  upon  some 
topics. 

"Wives,"  said  Dan'el,  "be  like  pilchards; 
when  they  be  good  they  be  only  middlin' ;  but 
when  they  be  bad,  they  be  bad,  sure  'nough." 


The  Old  Clock. 


19 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE      OLD      CLOCK. 


HE 


old  clock  stood 
in  the  corner  of 
the  cobbler's  shop, 
and  was,  with  but 
one  exception,  the 
most  [jrecious  bit 
of  furniture  that  he 
possessed. 

The  little  shelf 
of  books  was  very 
dear,  but  Wesley's 
Works  would  have 
gone, "  Notes,"  and 
-^^f^^^^m^^^^" ' ^  ^'  "  Sermons,"  and  all 
—yes,  and  Bunyan's  Pilgrim  too — before  the 
clock.  Indeed,  there  was  only  one  thing  that 
would  have  any  chance  beside  it.  That  was  an 
old  green-baize  covered  Bible  with  loose  leaves  ; 
dear,  as  the  book  of  precious  promises  from 
which    every    day  Dan'el    drew    strength   and 


20  Daniel  Quorm. 

peace  and  hope,  it  was  dearer  because  on  the 
fly  leaf,  among  many  family  names  and  sundry 
accounts  and  entries,  came  the  writing,  in  a 
large  stragghng  hand :  "  My  mothers  Bible, 
yuly,  1832."  Away  in  the  quiet  little  church- 
yard was  a  grave,  carefully  tended,  made  beau- 
tiful with  simple  flowers,  and  at  its  head  a  stone 
that  explained  this  date.  Here  rested  John 
Quorm  "of  this  parish,"  who  died  1820.  Here 
also  slept  Margery  Quorm,  wife  of  the  above, 
who  departed  this  life  July  16,  1832;  and  un- 
derneath this  name  was  the  text :  "  /  bowed 
down  heavily,  as  one  that  mourjieth  for  his 
mother'  Little  wonder  that  the  Bible  was 
dear. 

But  what  could  there  be  in  a  clock.  It  was 
an  old-fashioned  clock  in  a  tall  wooden  case, 
that  solemnly  ticked  in  the  corner — slowly  and 
solemnly  ticked  the  minutes  through,  duly  "  giv- 
ing warning"  five  minutes  before  the  hour; 
striking  deliberately,  as  if  it  srayed  to  count 
each  stroke,  and  then  settling  down  for  another 
solemn  hour's  work.  Yet,  solemn  as  it  was, 
and  much  above  all  trifling,  there  was  a  strange 
little  bit  of  humor  on  the  very  face  of  it.  A 
round,  chubby   face  with  two  round  eyes   was 


The  Old  Clock.  21 

intended  to  represent  the  moon,  and  had  been 
formerly  connected  with  workings  that  marked 
the  lunar  changes  and  quarterings ;  but  by- 
some  mishap  it  had  slipped  down,  and  one  eye 
now  peeped  out  of  the  corner  with  a  cunning 
look,  that  seemed  to  say,  "You  think  me  an  old 
sober-sides  who  has  not  a  bit  of  fun  in  him,  but 
that's  all  you  know  about  it."  And  one  almost 
expected  to  see  a  sly  wink  half-shut  that  cunning 
little  eye. 

But  these  things — its  solemn  ticking  and  its 
sly  peeping — however  noteworthy  they  may 
have  been,  could  not  explain  how  it  came  to 
have  such  a  place  in  Dan'el's  heart  of  hearts. 
This  was  its  story. 

Daniel  was  about  seventeen  years  of  age 
when  his  father  died.  "  Of  course,"  said  every 
body,  "  of  course  old  Mrs.  Quorm  will  leave  the 
place  now.  Pity  but  what  young  Dan'el  was  a 
few  years  older."  Old  Mrs.  Quorm's  relatives 
had  actually  gone  to  the  length  of  making  ar- 
rangements for  her  removal.  But  it  had  never 
crossed  Dan'el's  mind  ;  and  when  he  heard  of  it 
he  simply  stared  with  the  one  little  sharp  eye,  and 
asked,  "  Whatever  for  .''  "  and  looked  so  amazed, 
?^nd  asked  it  with  such  angry  surprise,  that  the 


22  Daniel  Quorm. 

relatives  took  a  little  longer  time  to  think  of  it, 
in  which  time  Daniel  settled  the  matter  in  his 
own  way. 

He  at  once  took  upon  his  3^oung  shoulders  all 
the  care  and  toil  of  manhood.  He  neve^  ques- 
tioned how  he  should  do,  but  just  sat  down  in 
his  father's  place,  and  rose  early  and  sat  late, 
and  worked  away  with  a  will  that  would  have 
discovered  the  north-west  passage,  much  less 
sufficed  to  keep  the  old  roof  over  the  dear  moth- 
er's head.  It  was  a  constant  joy  to  him  that 
she  whom  he  loved  so  dearly  was  so  dependent 
on  his  thrift  and  industry.  The  very  tools 
caught  the  impulse  of  such  a  generous  motive. 
The  hammer  never  rang  so  merrily  in  the  old 
man's  time ;  even  the  tough  leather  and  the 
hard  lapstone  might  have  had  a  heart  in  them 
somewhere,  and  never  did  their  part  so  well ;  so 
all  Penwinnin  declared. 

One  night  Dan'el  sat,  long  alter  every  other 
worker  in  the  village  was  fast  asleep,  busying 
that  one  little  eye  that  seemed  never  to  tire. 
As  he  bored,  and  stitched,  and  hammered,  his 
mind  dwelt  upon  his  father's  death,  and  many 
thoughts  began  to  stir  that  had  often  come  and 
gone  with  no  very  visible  result — thoughts  of 


The  Old  Clock.  23 

death  and  immortality,  memories  of  words  and 
events  that  had  impressed  him  in  his  very  child- 
hood, and  now  woke  up  from  their  long  slumber 
with  strange  force  ;  how  that  he,  too,  must  pass 
away,  and  whither  should  he  go  ?  " 

Suddenly  the  old  clock  in  the  corner  took  up 
the  message  with  its  slow  and  solemn  ticking. 
In  that  still  hour  it  kept  repeating  with  meas- 
ured beat,  and  strange  monotony,  its  brief  sen- 
tence— Forever — wJiere  ?  Forever — where  ? 
Forever — where  ?  Without  a  pause  for  a 
moment,  without  a  break,  it  ticked  on  its  dread- 
ful question.  Every  other  sound  was  hushed, 
and  in  the  lonely  stillness  the  ticking  clock 
seemed  to  become  almost  unbearably  loud.  It 
was  troublesome,  and  Daniel  hammered  more 
vigorously,  but  the  ticking  only  grew  louder ;  the 
question  was  pressed  home  only  the  more  close- 
ly. Distinct  and  incessant  it  repeated  itself: 
Forever — where  ?  Forever — where  ?  Daniel's 
deepest  feelings  began  to  be  stirred.  The  mem- 
ory of  his  father's  last  words  broke  upon  him, 
*'  Good-bye,  Daniel,  but  not  forever."  And 
again,  slow  and  solemn,  the  old  clock  took  up  its 
strain:  ^^  Forever — where?  Forever — where  f"^* 
Daniel  could  bear  it  no  longer.     He  rose,  laid 


24  Daniel  Quorm. 

dovvn  his  work,  and  resolved  to  stop  this  per- 
sistent messenger.  He  walked  over  to  it  and 
opened  the  narrow  door.  More  loudly  the 
question  began,  ''Forever,'  but  before  it  could 
be  finished  Daniel  put  his  finger  on  the  pendu- 
lum. At  once  all  was  still,  and  he  returned  to 
his  work. 

But  the  silence  was  more  impressive  than  the 
slow  ticking,  and  from  within  hirnself  a  voice 
began  to  say  some  plain  things. 

"Dan'el,"  it  whispered,  "thou  art  a  coward 
and  a  fool."  "  So  I  am  !  '*  he  cried  aloud  as  he 
flung  down  his  work,  and  as  the  tears  gathered 
in  his  eyes.  "Stopping  the  clock  wont  stop 
the  time.  The  moments  are  going  all  the  same, 
whether  I  hear  them  or  not.  And  am  I  going 
with  them.  Forever — where?  Forever — where  f 
No  ;  I'll  set  it  agoing  again,  for  it  does  no  good 
to  stop  it." 

Bravely  he  set  it  off  once  more.  But  the  work 
lay  at  his  feet,  and  with  clasped  hands  and  head 
hung  down,  he  gave  himself  up  to  thoughts 
that  impressed  him  so  deeply^-the  thought  of 
God,  of  his  claims,  of  his  goodness,  of  his  right- 
eouness,  grew  upon  him  ;  of  sin,  of  its  horrible- 
ness  and  its  awful  peril.    All  the  sins  of  his  life 


The  Old  Clock.  25 

began  to  rise  up  before  him,  especially  the  one 
great  sin  of  neglecting  and  forgetting  God  ;  and 
amid  it  all  came  every  now  and  then  that  slow, 
solemn  ticking:  Foreve?" — where?  Forever — 
where  f  His  distress  became  unbearable.  He 
flung  himself  upon  his  knees,  and  cried,  ^'  O 
God,  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner ! "  Long  he 
wrestled  in  earnest  prayer,  but  all  was  in  vain. 
No  help,  no  light,  no  peace  came.  In  despair 
he  ceased  to  pray,  and  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands.  "  Forever — where  f  Forever — where  ?  " 
rang  from  the  clock  in  that  lonely  silence. 

What  could  he  do  }  Goaded  and  driven  on 
by  that  dreadful  message,  whither  could  he  fly } 
All  he  could  do  was  to  fall,  as  a  poor  helpless 
sinner,  into  the  Saviour's  arms.  The  tears  fell 
faster  as  he  flung  himself  helplessly  on  the 
stool,  and  groaned,  "O  Lord,  a  broken  heart 
thou  wilt  not  despise  !  Look  at  mine.  Broken 
and  crushed,  have  mercy  upon  me,  and  save 
me."  That  moment  light  dawned  upon  him. 
He  rested  upon  Christ,  his  crucified  Redeemer, 
and  that  was  every  thing.  Helpless  and  an- 
ione,  he  just  simply  clung  to  the  cross  of  Christ, 
and  there  he  found  what  the  thousands  of  the 
redeemed  have  found  there — pardon,  and  peace. 


26  Daniel  Quorm. 

and  heaven.  For  his  sins  the  Lord  nad  died  • 
for  him  that  hfe  had  been  laid  down.  The  clear 
light  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  who  is  come  to  tes- 
tify of  Jesus,  lit  up  all  the  purpose  of  the  cross, 
and  revealed  all  the  mercy  of  God  in  Christ. 
Daniel  knelt,  hushed  in  adoring  gratitude. 
Again,  through  the  stillness,  came  that  message 
from  the  corner,  welcomed  now  with  strangely 
different  feelings — Forever — where  f  Forever — 
where?  From  Daniel's  heart  there  burst  the 
rapturous  response  :  "  Glory  be  to  thee,  O  Lord  ! 
with  thee  forever !  *  He  that  believeth  hath 
everlasting  life  ! '  " 

As  he  rose  from  his  knees  the  old  clock 
struck  twelve.  "The  'old  things  are  passed 
away,' "  he  whispered,  "  and  *  all  things  are  be- 
come new.'  Well  may  the  old  clock  strike 
twelve,  and  finish  this  strange  night ;  aye,  and 
that  old  life !  A  new  day  begins  for  me."  And 
he  left  it  in  the  darkness  ticking  on  its  solemn 
message  :  Forever — where  ?    Forever — ivhere  f 

Reader,  hast  thou  heard  that  message  }  What 
is  the  answer .?  Onward,  downward,  toward  the 
eternal  darkness  .-*  or  forward,  upward,  towaid 
the  sunny  distance  of  the  everlasting  light .? 


Mjf  Mother's  Bible.  27 


CHAPTER  III. 

"MY      MOTHER'S      BIBLE." 

DEAR  old  Dan'el  would  never  forgive  me, 
I  am  sure,  if  he  knew  that  I  told  the  story 
of  the  old  clock,  and  passed  over  that  which  was 
treasured  more  sacredly,  and  came  somehow  to 
be  always  mixed  up  with  the  clock — his  mothers 
Bible. 

An  old-fashioned  book,  in  a  faded  green-baize 
cover  which  could  scarcely  manage  to  hold  the 
looser  leaves  that  projected  beyond  the  dark 
brown  edges,  it  was  certainly  nothing  to  look 
at.  A  second-hand  bookseller  would  probably 
have  grudged  any  thing  more  than  its  worth  as 
waste  paper.  But  gilt  edges  and  gold  clasp, 
morocco  binding,  the  designs  of  Dore,  or  the 
wild  grandeur  of  Martin's  fancies,  could  never 
have  made  any  book  so  dear  as  was  that  old 
Bible  to  Dan'el  Quorm. 

Nor  was  the  inside  of  the  book  more  promis- 
mg  in  appearance.  You  opened  it,  and  under 
the  black  threads  that  held  the  baize  together 


28  Daniel  Quorm. 

were  sundry  papers — Methodist  quarterly  class- 
tickets,  mostly  bearing  the  name  of  Margery 
Quorm  ;  old  receipts  and  prescriptions  in  faded 
brown  ink  and  queer  spelling — "  For  takin' 
down  proud  flesche  ; "  "  How  to  kep  henseggs  ;" 
or  brief  headings  with  a  long  list  of  remedies 
for  "  crick  in  the  backe,"  and  sundry  ailments. 
One  of  the  most  curious  entries  was  the  "  charm 
for  a  seair  * 

In  the  same  faded  ink  were  bills  and  accounts 
scrawled  upon  the  cover,  and  extending  to  the 
blank  leaf,  even  intruding  upon  the  title-page 
and  the  dedication,  so  that  the  most  high  and 
mighty  Prince  James  was  obscured  under  "  per- 
chas  of  lether,"  and  memoranda  about  the  rent. 
To  Dan'el's  mind  these  entries  were  like  "  tables 
of  the  money-changers  and  seats  of  them  that 
sold  doves,"  defiling  the  holy  place ;  intruders 
that  he  would  fain  have  driven  forth  from  the 
sanctuary,  but  that  unfortunately  they  were  fix- 

*  Which  ran  thus  : — '*  To  be  said  three  times  : — 

*  There  was  three  angels  come  from  the  west — 
The  wan  brot  fiar,  and  the  other  brot  frost. 
And  the  other  brot  the  book  of  Jesu  Christ. 
In  the  name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  of 
the  Holy  Ghost.' " 


"My  Mother's  Bzbler  29 

tures,  and  could  not  be  removed  without  damag- 
ing the  holy  temple  itself. 

There  was  one  more  entry.  Across  the  faded 
receipts,  in  bold  and  large  letters,  came  a  more 
recent  writing  which  stood  like  an  inscription 
over  the  temple  porch,  explaining  all  its  sanc- 
tity and  preciousness — My  mothers  Bible. 

Who  could  tell  all  that  this  book  was  to 
Dan'el  Quorm  ?  It  was  verily  more  precious 
than  gold,  yea,  than  fine  gold. 

Never  was  the  labored  missal  of  the  monk 
so  beautifully  illuminated  as  was  this  old  worn 
Bible  to  Dan'el.  Every  incident  of  it  was  illus- 
trated to  him,  and  every  page  was  bordered 
with  memories  that  brightened  and  enriched  it 
with  more  than  crimson  and  gold. 

Back  in  this  dim  age  of  his  childhood,  in  the 
earliest  memory  of  his  life,  there  was  this  treas- 
ured volume.  It  was  the  memory  that  stood 
like  the  frontispiece  of  his  life.  He  saw  him- 
self as  a  little  lad  beside  his  mother's  knee, 
looking  up  wdth  loving  wonder  into  that  gentle 
face ;  she  a  picture  of  purity  and  sweetness  in 
her  Methodist  dress  and  the  simple  white  cap 
that  gathered  around  a  face  not  beautiful,  but 
more  than   beautiful,  just   an  embodiment  of 


30  Daniel  Quorm. 

sweetness  and  light,  in  which  lurked  no  possi- 
bility of  distrust,  or  fear,  or  grumbling  ;  every 
feature  telling  of  a  love  such  as  could  hope 
all  things  and  believe  all  things,  yet  no  weak- 
ness, but  that  combination  of  gentleness  and 
strength  which  constitutes  the  love  that  can 
endure  all  things  The  neat  white  muslin  ker- 
chief folded  into  the  black  dress  completed  the 
portrait. 

Here  the  little  lad  kneeled  to  learn  his  first 
lessons,  and  the  associations  of  those  early 
days,  however  illogical  and  foolish  they  may 
have  been,  were  the  most  influential  and  imper- 
ishable of  his  life.  Dan'el  Quorm,  an  old  fellow 
as  tough  and  unsentimental  as  his  own  shoe 
leather,  as  sharp  and  shrewd  as  his  shining  awl  or 
keen  knife,  could  not  for  the  life  of  him  come  to 
believe  any  otherwise  than  that  the  sweet  face 
and  gentle  voice  and  loving  manner,  that  the 
very  dress  and  bearing,  came  somehow  from  the 
teachings  of  his  mother's  Bible. 

Memories  of  her  were  wrapped  up  with  its 
most  familiar  portions.  Dan'el  could  never  hear 
the  story  of  faithful  Noah,  of  the  good  lad  Joseph, 
of  little  Moses,  of  Joshua  and  Gideon,  of  David 
and  Daniel,  and  the  more  familiar  incidents  in 


''Mf  Mother's  Bible"  31 

the  life  of  Jesus,  but  they  became  pictures  which 
her  sweet  voice  explained  and  impressed. 

Nor  was  it  only  in  childhood  that  such  vivid 
memories  had  illustrated  the  work.  As  you 
turned  over  the  pages  you  came  to  marks  in- 
closing many  of  the  passages ;  lines  drawn 
around  some  verses,  and  having  a  date  written 
on  the  margin.  To  a  stranger  just  four  ink 
marks  about  some  words  ;  to  Dan'el  they  were 
the  chronicles  of  his  history  ;  they  marked  the 
most  memorable  incidents  of  his  life. 

From  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  Forty- 
sixth  Psalm  were  these  distinguishing  marks, 
elevating  it  into  a  kind  of  monument,  the 
Ebenezer  stone  of  a  grateful  memory.  And 
this  was  the  event  that  it  recorded.  Dan'el 
was  yet  a  little  lad  when  the  French  wars  had 
drained  the  country  of  money  and  of  labor.  In 
common  with  thousands  of  others,  the  little 
family  of  Penwinnin  was  sorely  pinched  by  it. 
But  want  was  not  the  only,  not  even  the  worst, 
trouble.  Every  body  believed  that  Napoleon 
was  about  to  land  somewhere  on  the  Cornish 
coast.  There  where  the  sea  locked  them  in  on 
three  sides,  west,  north,  and  south  of  them, 
they  could  see  the  ocean,  the  highway  of  their 


32  Daniel  Quorm. 

enemies — in  times,  loo,  when  newspapers  were 
very  few,  and  seldom  reached  that  far-off  cor- 
ner, and  when  among  the  excited  people  rumors 
were  rife  and  always  terrible  and  threatening-  — 
there  was  enough  to  make  folks  uneasy.  More 
than  once  a  messenger  had  hurried  to  the  village 
with  the  tidings  that  the  French  were  coming — 
by  this  time  had  landed ;  some  fisherman  or 
smuggler  had  seen  them  at  dawn,  and  came  in 
with  the  news.  The  frightened  people  prepared 
to  save  themselves  as  best  they  could ;  some 
would  fly  eastward  ;  others  would  escape  to 
the  rocky  summits  and  crags  of  the  hills.  One 
stalwart  mother  in  Israel  grasped  a  pitchfork, 
and  went  through  the  village  street  rousing 
the  people  to  arm  themselves  with  whatever 
weapons  they  could  find  and  to  follow  her,  and 
they  would  keep  out  "Mounseer."  At  such 
times  Dan'el  had  been  taken  by  a  gentle  hand 
and  led  into  his  mother's  room  :  there,  kneeling 
by  her  side,  he  had  watched  with  wonder  that 
calm  faith  renew  itself  as  she  read  the  words : 
"  God  is  our  refuge  and  strength,  a  very  present 
help  in  trouble.  Therefore  will  not  we  fear, 
though  the  earth  be  removed,  and  though  the 
mountains  be  carried  into  the  midst  of  the  sea.  . . 


'' My  Mother's  Bibler  33 

The  Lord  of  Hosts  is  with  us  ;  the  God  of  Jacob 
is  our  refuge."  Then  there  followed  the  prayer, 
in  which  his  mother  poured  out  her  trustful 
heart  before  the  Lord.  And  little  Dan'el  came 
down  the  stairs  at  her  side,  with  such  a  con- 
tempt for  Napoleon  and  all  the  Frenchmen,  and 
such  a  sense  of  safety,  as  if  the  overshadowing 
wings  of  the  Most  High  verily  enfolded  them. 

Another  illustration  was  in  the  book  of  Isaiah. 
Here,  too,  the  ordinary  reader  could  but  find  a 
\ext  inclosed  in  lines,  and  beside  them  the  entry 
of  a  date.  But  to  Dan'el  there  was  a  picture  of 
\  darkened  room,  where  in  the  dim  light  knelt 
that  mother  and  a  lad  of  seventeen,  he  father- 
less, and  she  a  widow.  They  knelt  in  silence 
for  awhile ;  then  the  pages  of  the  Bible  had 
been  opened  and  the  sweet  voice  read  with 
calm  firmness  the  words  :  "  Fear  not,  ...  for 
thy  Maker  is  thine  husband  ;  the  Lord  of  Hosts 
is  his  name  ;  and  thy  Redeemer  the  Holy  One 
of  Israel."  And  again  they  knelt  in  silence — a 
silence  in  which  these  tones  and  words  sank 
down  into  the  lad's  heart,  making  her  in  her 
sorrow  and  loneliness  sacredly  dear  to  him,  and 
filling  him  with  the  strength  and  purpose  that 
henceforth  he  so  lovingly  rendered. 


34  Daniel  Quorm. 

There  were  other  illustrations.  But  we  must 
linger  only  over  one  more :  one  more  distinctly 
marked,  a  scene  more  vivid  and  powerful  to 
Dan'el's  mind  than  any  other.  Not  much  to 
look  at  was  there  in  that  text  with  the  lines 
around  it,  and  with  the  date  written  in  the 
corner. 


Arise,  let  us  go  hence. 

July  i6th,  1832. 


But  Dan'el  saw  in  it  a  picture  that  could 
never  fade  and  grow  dim.  He  saw  himself 
seated  beside  the  bed  with  the  Bible  before  him. 
He  was  looking  with  tears  upon  her  whom  he 
felt  he  could  not  look  upon  much  longer.  That 
faint,  failing  breath  too  plainly  told  the  story. 
The  face,  though  pinched  with  suffering,  was 
still  beautiful  in  its  placid  calm  and  fullness  of 
love.  Since  noon  a  wild  thunder-storm  had 
crashed  and  rolled  about  the  hills,  but  now  as 
the  sun  went  down  the  clouds  had  cleared,  and 
in  the  cool  fresh  evening  the  fragrance  of  sweet 
flowers,  and  the  singing  of  the'  birds,  and  the 
radiant  sunset  glow,  came  together  through  the 
opened  window  and  filled  the  little  room. 


"My  Mother  s  Bible."  35 

"  Read  to  me,  dear,"  she  whispered  faintly. 
And  her  son,  loath  to  turn  his  eyes  from  her 
face,  at  once  opened  at  the  favorite  chapter,  the 
fourteenth  of  St.  John.  Slowly  he  repeated 
the  verses,  only  now  and  then  looking  at  the 
book.  As  the  sun  sank  lower  the  rays  slowly 
crept  round  the  room,  and  now  they  were  shin- 
ing upon  the  bed. 

"Whither  I  go  ye  know,  and  the  way  ye 
know.  .  .  .  Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled, 
neither  let  it  be  afraid." 

The  light  crept  on  until  it  touched  the  pillow, 
and  just  caught  the  withered  helpless  hand  and 
the  frilled  sleeve. 

Dan'el  read  on,  "  These  things  have  I  spoken 
unto  you,  being  yet  present  with  you.  But  the 
Comforter,  which  is  the  Holy  Ghost,  whom  the 
Father  will  send  in  my  name,  he  shall  teach  you 
all  things,  and  bring  all  things  to  your  remem- 
brance, whatsoever  I  have  said  unto  you." 

The  light  crept  onward  until  it  rested  upon 
the  border  of  the  white  cap,  and  almost  touched 
the  soft  white  hair. 

"  Peace  I  leave  with  you,"  Dan'el  continued  ; 
"  My  peace  I  give  unto  you."  The  feeble  lips 
whispered  the  words  as  they  were  read.     "  Let 


36  Daniel  Quorm. 

not  your  heart  be  troubled,  neither  let  it  be 
afraid." 

The  light  crept  farther  until  now  it  fell  upon 
all  the  face.  It  seemed  to  touch  the  cheeks 
with  the  ruddy  glow  of  youth,  and  lit  up  every 
feature  with  a  rare  beauty. 

"  Arise,  let  us  go  hence ,*  whispered  Dan' el 
with  faltering  voice.  But  no  whispered  response 
came  from  those  half-open  lips.  The  hand 
dropped  helplessly  toward  Dan'el,  and  as  it  was 
caught  and  passionately  kissed,  she  passed  away. 

He  kneeled  there  in  his  great  burst  of  sorrow, 
while  the  light  faded  ;  the  long  twilight  sank 
into  darkness,  and  when  Dan'el  looked  up  again 
he  could  not  see  her. 

"  Let  me  see  her  no  more,"  he  muttered  as  he 
rose  and  turned,  feeling  for  the  door.  "  She  has 
arisen  and  has  gone  hence.  '  They  need  no  can- 
dle, neither  light  of  the  sun ;  for  the  Lord  God 
giveth  them  light :  and  they  shall  reign  forever 
and  ever.'" 

There  were  other  texts  thus  made  to  chronicle 
the  principal  incidents  ;  one  or  two  that  Dan'eJ 
might  have  been  less  willing  to  explain.  But 
as  notable  events  in  his  life,  and  as  a  faithful 


*'  My  Mother's  Bibkr  37 

historian  of  them,  they  were  duly  recorded  in 
his  mother's  Bible. 

One  was  dated  in  August  of  the  next  year, 
when  things  at  home  had  come  to  be  in  much 
need  of  a  gentle  hand  and  of  a  woman's  care.  To- 
gether with  much  amused  talk  among  the  neigh- 
bors in  which  Dan'el's  name  was  first  associated 
with  that  of  Betsey  Crocker,  there  appeared  four 
emphatic  lines  around  the  verse,  "  It  is  not  good 
that  the  man  should  be  alone." 

"Betsey  knew  what  she  was  a-doin'  of!"  was 
the  uncharitable  opinion  of  the  village  gossips. 
An  opinion  that  had  very  little  other  ground  for 
its  uncharitableness  than  this,  that  Betsey  hap- 
pened to  be  twelve  years  older  than  her  beau. 
Within  six  months  of  the  wedding  came  another 
entry.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  it  completed  this 
portion  of  his  history ;  lines  were  drawn  about 
the  passage,  "  Art  thou  loosed  from  a  wife  }  seek 
not  a  wife." 

Perhaps  the  fault  was  not  altogether  on  his 
wife's  side.  Dan'el  had  an  ideal  of  womanhood 
so  lofty  and  pure  that  very  few  could  have  at- 
tained to  it,  and  poor  blundering  Betsey  was 
always  measured  by  the  vivid  memory  of  what 
his  mother  had  been. 


38  Daniel  Quorm. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

BROTHER    QUORM'S     PREJUDICE. 

ABOVE  every  thing  else  my  friend  Dan'el 
was  a  class  leader.  He  was  good  at 
making  shoes  or  mending  them  ;  good  at  doing 
the  bit  of  garden  in  front  of  his  place ;  good 
at  an  argument,  and  many  a  man  dropped  into 
the  shoemaker's  for  a  talk ;  good  at  a  sermon, 
as  appeared  from  his  appointments  on  that  huge 
circuit-plan.  But  it  was  as  a  class  leader  that 
you  had  Dan'el  at  his  best. 

His  two  classes  had  more  than  sixty  members, 
a  fair  half  of  that  flourishing  Society  at  Pen- 
winnin. 

Here  it  was,  at  these  classes,  that  Dan'el  came 
out  strong.  Pithy,  plain,  common-sensed,  with 
a  depth  of  pity  and  tenderness  in  his  soul,  here, 
perhaps,  Dan'el  was  at  his  best.  So  wise,  so 
simple,  so  practical. 

But  here,  too,  it  was  that  Dan'el's  prejudice 
betrayed  itself  There  were  moments  when  he 
would  come  out  in  a  sharp,  hasty  way,  and  run 


Brother  Quorm  s  Prejudice.  39 

full  tilt  against  some  notion  that  he  sought  to 
demolish.  Dan'el  was  a  man  to  whom  nothing 
was' so  intolerably  offensive  as  a  proverb.  All 
that  a  pun  was  to  Dr.  Johnson,  and  worse,  a 
proverb  was  to  him.  "  The  embodiment  of  a 
nation's  wisdom,"  "the  simplest  expression  of 
life's  philosophy,"  "the  most  compact  sum- 
ming-up of  universal  experience,"  as  others 
called  them,  to  Dan'el  they  were  the  grossest 
delusions — "half  truths  and  all  lies." 

And  making  some  allowance  for  Dan'el's 
prejudice,  it  must  be  owned  that  not  many 
things  are  more  provoking  to  an  earnest  man 
than  to  find  one's  careful  arguments  evaded  or 
overthrown  by  some  pet  proverb,  "like  as  if 
'twas  the  Gospel  itself,"  as  he  used  to  say ;  or 
when  a  point  is  clearly  established  by  some 
irresistible  instance,  to  find  it  all  coolly  pooh- 
poohed  by  the  ready  saying  that  "  it's  only  the 
exception  that  proves  the  rule."  If  any  thing 
might  vex  an  argumentative  and  logical  saint, 
Dan'el  thought  that  this  was  of  all  things  the 
most  likely  to  produce  such  a  result. 

"  They  that  made  'em  had  enough  mother-wit 
for  to  see  and  know  what  they  do  mean,"  he 
would  explain  to  sympathizing  listeners  ;  "  but  as 


40  Daniel  Qljorm. 

for  most  o'  them  there  that  use  'em,  they  haven't 
got  sense  enough  for  to  see  when  they  be  true 
and  when  they  be  lies  " 

Yet  even  such  inconveniences  as  these  Dan'el 
could  have  endured.  The  evil  became  unbear- 
able when  it  assumed  a  religious  form.  The 
habitual  phrases  in  which  people  contentedly 
excused  themselves,  and  under  which  they  took 
shelter  from  every  duty,  these  most  provoked 
his  ire. 

Old  Farmer  Gribble,  who  lived  in  the  village, 
was  a  ready  example  of  Dan'el's  point. 

"  There's  Muster  Gribble  of  the  farm  in  here 
— ^just  like  a  snail  drags  himself  back,  horns  an' 
all,  into  his  shell ;  or,  like  to  a  dew-worm  that 
hears  you  a  comin'  an'  starts  back  into  his  hole 
in  a  minute,  that  be  just  how  he'll  hide  up  in  a 
proverb.  I  said  to  him  the  other  day,  *  Farmer, 
you've  had  a  capital  harvest.  1  want  you  to 
give  me  something  for  our  missions.' 

"'Missions!'  he  cries  out,  'missions!  No, 
Dan'el,  I  hold  with  Paul,  that  charity  begins  at 
home.'  Then  when  I  tell  him  that  Paul  knew 
better  than  to  write  such  nonsense,  and  that 
there's  no  such  thing  in  the  Bible,  says  he,  in 
his  drawlin'  way  : — 


Brother  Quorm  's  Prejudice.  41 

"  *  Well,  if  it  ben't  there,  Dan'el,  it  ought  to  be 
there,  for  I  have  a  heard  it  a'most  as  often ! ' 

"  That's  the  way  with  lots  of  'em.  There's  poor 
Bob  Byles,  the  drunken  backslider,  keeps  sayin* 
what  wonderful  comfort  he  finds  in  that  there 
passage,  *'Tis  a  long  lane  that  hain't  got  no 
turnin' ; '  like  as  if  it  were  a  sure  promise  that 
he'll  come  right  some  day." 

Now  and  then  people  ventured  to  speak  in  de- 
fense of  such  sayings,  and  of  the  good  they  did, 
as  when  the  man  who  was  tempted  to  stay  from 
the  class-meeting  through  the  rough  weather 
thought  of  the  words,  "  Faint  heart  never  won 
fair  lady,"  and  broke  through  the  snare. 

Dan'el  would  look  up  at  you  with  his  one 
little  eye,  and  nod  his  rough  head.  "  Why  there 
never  was  a  bad  thing  yet  that  didn't  do  some 
good.  The  devil  himself  has  sometimes  wor- 
ritted  me  into  prayin'  and  watchin'.  There, 
look  'pon  that  there,"  he  said  one  day,  when  ar- 
guing the  matter  thus,  and  pointed  through  the 
window  to  a  dilapidated  rook  that  was  tied  to  a 
stick,  and  swung  in  the  breeze  of  the  April  day, 
scaring  his  comrades  from  the  young  green 
wheat.  "  That  old  fellow  sometimes  eat  grubs 
and  insects,  but  Farmer  Gribble  shot  him  for 


42  Daniel  Quorm. 

eatin'  his  corn.  They  do  some  good,  but  it's  to 
stop  their  doin'  harm  that  I  should  hke  to 
hang  'em  up.  Tinker  Tim,  who  went  to  prison 
the  other  day,  was  a  rare  good  hand  at  grindin' 
of  razors  and  knives,  but  he  was  sent  across  the 
seas  for  settin'  corn-stacks  a-fire.  Why  there 
wouldn't  be  any  harm  in  the  world  if  it  wern't 
done  by  things  that  be  some  good." 

How  Dan'el  met  many  of  these  sayings  we 
need  not  stay  to  tell ;  but  how  he  dealt  with 
the  proverbial  phrases  of  the  class-meetings 
and  of  religious  talk  is  worthy  of  being  recorded. 
Words  with  him  were  ammunition,  flung  out  in 
a  sharp,  jerky  style,  like  an  irregular  fire  of 
musketry.  Now  they  were  grape  shot,  stinging 
and  effective  ;  now  bullets,  sharp  and  silencing  ; 
now  cannon  balls,  sweeping  with  thunder ;  now 
shells  bursting  into  atoms  fine  fancies,  and  the 
tall  talk  of  some  real  or  imaginary  opponent. 
An  artillery  used  with  most  manifest  pleasure 
to  demolish  these  refugees  of  idle  and  mendi- 
cant souls.  For  words  to  be  abused  in  proverbs 
was  thus  to  Dan'el  much  as  it  had  been  to  some 
sturdy  old  puritan  had  he  seen  honest  bullets 
beaten  into  roofing  for  the  shelter  of  traitors 
and  rebels.    Never  did  the  one  little  eye  twinkle 


Brother  Quorm's  Prejudice.  43 

with  such  flashes  of  indignation  and  joyous  hu- 
mor, or  the  pursed-up  mouth  so  fling  out  its 
words,  as  when  he  demoHshed  such  reHgious 
phrases — good  in  themselves,  but  made  false 
and  harmful  by  those  who  used  them. 


44 


Daniel  Quorm. 


CHAPTER  V. 

BROTHER  QUORM  AT  CLASS. 

ROTHER  QUORM 
had  two  classes ; 
and,  as  we  have 
said,  had  altogeth- 
er on  his  books 
more  than  half  the 
Society  at  Pen- 
winnin. 

The  larger  and 
more  popular  class 
-,  met  every  Sunday 
morning  at  eight 
o'clock.  They  met 
in  what  was  called  by  courtesy  "the  parlor" 
— really  the  sanded  front-kitchen — at  Thomas 
Toms'.  Next  to  the  leader's  own  nam^e,  on 
the  class-book,  was  that  of  old  Sally  Toms, 
or  "Granny  Toms,"  as  nearly  every  body  in 
Penwinnin  called  her,  who  had  her  bed  in  that 
room,  and  always  lay  there.      An   old  woman 


Brother  Quorm  at  Class.  45 

bordering  upon  a  hundred,  she  had  been  in  the 
Society  for  eighty  years,  and  declared  that  she 
should  "  take  her  death "  if  she  "  didn't  go  to 
mittin'  regular,"  which  was  scarcely  accurate, 
as  the  meeting  always  came  to  her.  There  she 
lay,  with  the  thin  withered  fingers  clasped  on 
the  clean  white  sheet  ;  the  face,  with  its  clear 
ruddy  complexion,  bordered  by  the  hair  of  such 
bleached  softness,  and  framed  by  the  cap  that 
gathered  round  and  set  it  off  like  a  picture. 
Cut  off  as  she  was  from  all  other  services,  this 
united  singing  and  prayer,  the  faces  of  her  old 
friends,  and  the  talk  about  "  good  things,"  was 
her  solace  and  strength.  There  was  no  doubt 
about  it.  It  did  her  good,  as  she  said,  "  Body  and 
soul,  bless  the  Lord !  body  and  soul."  And  to 
those  who  came  it  was  as  good  as  a  sermon- 
better  than  some  sermons,  perhaps— to  look  at 

her. 

Altogether  it  was  an  arrangement  to  meet 
the  cas'e  of  an  old  member,  such  as  might  well 
be  imitated  in  thousands  of  places  ;  an  arrange- 
ment, too,  by  which  the  Church  secured  those 
holy  influences  and  ripe  utterances  which  she 
can  least  afford  to  lose.  If  the  mountain  can't 
come  to  Mohammed,  there  is  just  one  other  ex- 


46  Daniel  Quorm. 

pedient — let  Mohammed  go  to  the  mountain 
Take  the  class-meeting  to  the  old  sick  mem- 
bers ;  if  not  always,  at  least  once  or  twice  in 
the  quarter.  This  is  better  than  having  the 
names  run  on  page  after  page,  till  some  day 
dropped  as  unknown  by  a  new  leader — cutting 
off  from  membership  some  of  the  saintHest  heirs 
of  glory.  There  was  much  grace,  and  much 
wisdom,  and  much  gain  every  way,  in  that 
kindly  little  arrangement. 

And  how  cosy  and  snug  the  place  used  to 
feel !  A  vestry  has  not  any  homeliness  in  it, 
somehow.  You  feel  that  folks  don't  live  there, 
and  you  can't  readily  make  yourself  quite  "  at 
home "  in  it.  There,  at  Thomas  Toms',  was 
the  canary  hanging  in  the  window,  that  always 
began  to  sing  when  the  hymn  was  given  out, 
just  as  if  he  had  been  a  regular  member  of  the 
class.  But  it  was  summarily  expelled  from 
Society  by  having  an  anti-macassar  flung  over 
the  cage,  an  indignity  against  which  he  mildly 
protested  by  the  utterance  of  an  occasional 
mournful  note.  There,  over  the  mantel-piece, 
were  the  shining  brasses  and  pans  ;  and  on  the 
walls  figured  the  quaint  old  over-colored  draw- 
ings of  the  Noah's  ark,  and  other  scriptural 


Brother  Quorm  at  Class.  47 

subjects.  And  at  the  week-day  class  were 
homelier  touches  that  made  men  talk  about 
religion  in  a  simple,  every-day  tone,  the  like  of 
which  it  is  hard  to  get  in  a  vestry.  Why  there 
was  the  pan  of  bread  set  down  before  the  fire 
to  "  plumb,"  or  the  savory  baking  of  "  the  past- 
ies "  proclaimed  itself  delicately  from  the  oven  ; 
and  on  the  hearth-rug  lay  a  pair  of  little  shoes 
and  socks.  Much  of  that  strong  social  union 
to  which  Methodism  has  been  so  greatly  in- 
debted, and  which  in  old  time  she  so  carefully 
fostered,  came  from  the  fact  that  the  people 
went  "  from  house  to  house,"  the  class-meetings 
and  the  prayer-meetings  were  in  the  houses  of 
the  people,  and  the  Church  itself  was  not  unfre- 
quently  a  "  Church  in  the  house." 

You  could  not  have  been  long  in  Brother 
Dan'el's  class  without  seeing  how  much  they 
all  owed  to  the  presence  of  old  "  Granny  "  Toms. 
There  she  lay  like  a  beautiful  picture  of  the 
faith  that  could  guide  and  sustain  them ;  a 
voice  on  before  bidding  them  fear  not,  and  a 
radiant  face  turning  as  if  to  let  them  know  what 
light,  and  peace,  and  joy  were  on  there. 

Dan'el  used  perpetually  to  clench  his  argu- 
ment and  point  his  moral  by  reference  to  Gran- 


48  Daniel  Quorm. 

ny.  When  young  members  began  to  talk  of 
their  fears  and  of  their  hinderances,  how  the 
one  sharp  Uttle  eye  would  look  toward  the  old 
saint,  uttering  a  dozen  notes  of  exclamation  all 
at  once, 

'*  Hinderances  ! ! !  Hinderances  ! !  Aye,  my 
dear !  Begin  to  talk  about  hinderances,  and 
mother  here'll  tell  a  story  about  hinderances. 
Granny  can  mind  hearin'  'em  ring  the  church 
bells  'cause  they'd  clean  drove  the  Methodists 
out  o'  the  parish." 

Granny  would  have  confirmed  it  with  words, 
but  that  Dan'el  knew  her  habit  of  entering 
with  much  minuteness  into  the  pedigree  and 
circumstances  of  every  body  concerned — so  he 
only  waited  for  her  preliminary  nod,  and  then 
hurried  on  again  before  she  had  time  to  begin. 

"  Hinderances,  my  dear  !  Why,  she  can  mind 
hearin'  'em  talk  of  how  a  man  down  at  Penzance 
was  put  to  prison  for  blasphemy  'cause  he  said 
the  Lord  had  forgiven  his  sins.  Why,  my  dear, 
doan't  let  us  go  talkin'  about  it — we  be  goin'  to 
heaven  in  silver  slippers.  Why,  mother,  you 
used  to  walk  sixteen  miles  'pon  the  Sunday." 

"  Rain  or  fine,"  said  Granny  with  a  nod. 

"  Yes,  we  be  goin'  in  silver  slippers,"  and  then, 


Brother  Qtwrm  at  Class.  49 

as  a  merry  twinkle  played  about  that  sharp  little 
eye,  and  it  rested  a  moment  upon  the  smart  rib- 
bons or  flowered  bonnet — "  In  silver  slippers  I — 
and  that  be  the  hinderance.  We  do  make  our 
own  hinderances.  It  be  easier  to  go  barefoot 
than  in  tight  shoes.  And  silver  slippers  is  poor 
things  for  any  journey,  but  most  of  all  for  going 
to  the  Celestial  City.  No  wonder  that  we  go 
limpin',  and  talk  about  making  little  progress, 
and  about  our  hinderances.  Folks  with  tight 
shoes  '11  get  corns — and  serve  'em  right,  too — 
and  then  every  road  is  hard  to  travel,  and  every 
bit  of  a  rise  is  a  mountain.  Rain  nowadays  is 
a  hinderance  ;  but  in  mother's  time  it  wasn't. 
For  in  the  old  times  the  big  bonnets  and  long 
cloaks  were  like  umbr-ella  and  every  thing  else, 
and  '  cats  an'  dogs  weren't  a  hinderance.  But 
now  we  go  wearin*  such  fine  feathers  an'  things, 
that  a  sprinkle  of  rain  an'  they're  spoiled. 
And  I  wish  they  were  all  that  was  spoiled,  for 
it  wouldn't  be  any  great  matter  if  a  good  deal 
of  *em  was  washed  away.  But  it  spoils  the 
temper,  and  it  vexes  and  worries  all  the  grace 
out  of  folks  ;  and  then  ever  so  much  time  goes 
in  trying  to  get  it  right  again.  Talking  about 
temptations  an'  hinderances  !     Why,  I  don't  see 


50  Daniel  Quorm. 

how  it  can  be  much  other.  The  old  enemy  goes 
drivin'  about  like  Jehu  in  his  chariot,  and  he  can 
see  us  in  a  minute  with  all  this  finery,  and  he 
comes  poisonin'  such  folks  with  pride  an'  con- 
ceit. He's  sent  many,  I'll  warrant,  to  the  dogs, 
like  Jezebel,  all  through  their  tired  heads  and 
furbelows,  who'd  have  been  all  right  if  they  had 
just  gone  along  plain  and  simple.  O'  course 
any  body  can  put  as  much  pride  into  old 
mother's  cap  here  as  into  any  thing  else.  Seem- 
in'  to  me  'tis  best  to  go  in  what  other  folks  '11 
take  least  notice  of  either  way ;  for  then  we 
sha'n't  think  much  of  ourselves,  an'  slippin' 
along  in  the  crowd  the  enemy  isn't  so  likely  to 
single  us  out.  I've  seen  it  advertised  very  often 
in  the  papers — '  tourists'  suits.'  Well,  they  may 
be  very  good  ;  but  for  our  journey,  I  don't  believe 
there's  any  thing  that's  so  good  or  so  comfort- 
able as  what  I've  read  of  somewhere  else — 'tij 
homespun,  and  you  can't  buy  it  anywhere,  sc 
we  must  all  learn  to  make  it — Be  clothed  with 
humility.  A  hinderance  it  is,  sure  'nough.  in  a 
good  many  ways.  Folks  be  kept  so  long  a-'  tidi- 
vatin'  o'  theirselves  that  they're  sure  to  get  to 
meetin'  ten  minutes  late ;  an'  that's  all  the 
H'^rse,  because  they  take  so  long  a-gettin*  ready 


Bi'other  Quorm  at  Class.  51 

that  they're  sure  not  to  have  a  minute  for  a  bit 

o  prayer  afore  they  start.     I've  heard  tell  about 

a  man  who  preached  from  them  words,  '  There 

appeared  a  great  wonder  in  heaven — a  woman.' 

But   he  ought  to  ha'  gone  on  an'  finished — *  a 

woman  clothed  with  the  sun,  and  upon  her  head 

a  crown  of  twelve  stars.     Now  it  seems  to  me 

that  the  wonder  was  that  any  body  dressed  so 

shinin'  an'  glitterin'  ever  got  to  heaven,  and  it 

will  be  a  wonder  if  some  folks   manage  to  get 

there  with  their  heads   all   covered   over  with 

feathers  an'  flowers  an'  all  the  rest  of  it. 

"  No,  we  hardly  know  what  hinderances   be, 

nowadays,  and  the  few    there   are   don't  come 

from  heaven  above,  or  earth  beneath  ;  but  they 

come  out  of  our  own  pride  and  folly,  or  out  of 

our  own    neglect.     They,  too,   are  home-made^ 

every  one  of  em,  home-made^ 
4 


52 


Daniel  Quorm. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

BROTHER   DAN'EL   ON    "  SLOW   AND    SURS,^ 

THERE,  inside  the 
door  of  Thomas 
Toms'  parlor,  sat 
Jim  Tregoning  — 
who  was  a  well- 
meaning  kind  of  a 
man,  and  gener- 
ally spoken  of  as 
/I  "  poor  fellow,"  and 
of  whom  the  peo- 
ple said  how  un- 
fortunate he  was. 
He  had  tried  every  thing,  from  driving  a  van 
to  selling  of  patent  medicines  and  the  hawk- 
ing of  books.  There  he  sat  with  an  unmean- 
ing smile  upon  his  face,  and  large  eyes  look- 
ing on  one  place  all  through  the  hour,  but  ne/er 
seeming  to  see  any  thing.  He  was  perpetu- 
ally folding  his   red  cotton   handkerchief  into 


Brother  Da7i  'el  on  ''Sloiv  and  Stcre^       53 

a  large  pad,  with  which  he  stroked  his  hair 
down  over  his  forehead,  and  then  began  to  re- 
make the  pad.  When  his  turn  came  he  spoke 
with  a  sigh. 

"  How  was  he  gettin'  on .'  Well,  he  feared 
he  was  only  a  slow  traveler  heavenward.  But 
there— "he  had  many  troubles  and  trials — fight- 
in's  without  and  fears  within — and  he  hoped 
that  his  motter  was  slozv  an  sure,  slow  an  sure ; 
for  the  race  wasn't  to  the  wise  nor  yet  to  the 
strong,  but  it  were  to  the  sure.  If  he  couldn't 
fly  he  must  walk,  and*  if  he  couldn't  walk  he 
must  creep ;  and  if  he  wasn't  so  fast  a  traveler 
as  some  folks,  he  hoped  he  were  just  as  sure." 

The  Uttle  eye  twinkled — and  yet  there  was  a 
tone  of  pain  and  grief  in  the  reply. 

"  La,  Jim,  whatever  do  'e  mean  !  *  Slow  and 
sure,  slow  and  sure.'  Always  the  same.  Never 
no  forwarder,  never  no  backwarder,  but  always 
a  stickin'  in  the  same  place.  I'll  tell  'e  what, 
Jim.  You  'slow  and  sure'  folks  be  just  like  a 
fagot  0'  green  furze  'pon  the  fire.  You  don't 
blaze  nor  burn  ;  you  do  nothing  but  only  steam, 
and  fizz,  and  go  fillin'  the  house  with  smeach 
and  smoke.  Do  'e  get  out  o'  this  here  way. 
Strive  to  enter  in  at  the  strait  gate ;  but  goin' 


54  Daniel  Quorm. 

along  so  slow  you'll  be  sure  not  to  get  through 
un.  Slow  an'  sure !  Yes,  sure  to  be  too  late  ! 
'Tis  what  the  folks  said  when  they  was  a  comin' 
to  the  ark ;  but  the  floods  came  quick  and  sure 
*pon  them  before  they  got  to  the  ark,  and  slow 
an'  sure  was  drowned.  Serve  him  right,  too. 
The  virgins  were  slow  and  sure  when  they  were 
a-gone  to  buy  oil  for  their  lamps,  and  when  they 
come  back  the  door  was  shut.  Slow  an*  sure ! 
'Tis  damp  powder  that  do  burn  like  that  there, 
Jim, — it'll  choke  'e  all  with  smoke,  but  it  wont 
ever  heave  a  rock  in  two,  or  do  any  body  a  mor- 
sel o'  good. 

"  I've  heard  em'  say  that  horses  that  be 
stumblers  be  a'most  sure  to  come  down  if  you 
let  'em  go  along  with  a  creepin*  kind  of  a  jog- 
trot. And  that's  how  Christian  folks  fall  in 
general ;  going  along  so  slow  an'  sleepy,  down 
they  come  all  of  a  heap,  knockin'  theirselves  all 
to  bits  a'most  before  they  know  where  they  are. 

"  An'  then  troubles  an'  trials — of  course  you 
do  have  them — heaps  of  'em.  What  else  can 
anybody  expect .?  Slow  and  sure !  Why,  'tis 
'zactly  like  when  I  be  walkin'  to  Redburn  on  a 
fair-day,  and  every  van,  and  cart,  and  lumberin' 
wagon,   and  donkeys,   and   all   the   riffraff  an' 


Brother  Daniel  on  "Slow  and  Surer       55 

sharpers — they  do  all  overtake  me.  But  when 
you  get  in  the  train  you  go  whizzing  over 
their  heads,  and  leave  'em  behind,  every  one 
of  'em. 

"  Go  creepin'  along  !  Why  of  course  there's 
never  a  trouble  or  trial  but  it  comes  up  to  you. 
Spread  your  wings,  Jim,  spread  your  wings  out, 
and  fly  !  *  They  that  wait  upon  the  Lord  shall 
renew  their  strength;'  and  shall  mount  — 
mount,  Jim  ; — ^  they  shall  mount  up  with  wings 
as  eagles.'  Old  care  is  a  black-winged,  croak- 
ing old  raven  ;  but  his  croakin'  can't  get  up  so 
high  as  the  eagle,  it's  down,  down  ever  so  far 
below ;  down  under  the  clouds ;  and  the  eagle 
is  up  above  'em  all,  in  the  floods  o'  sunshine. 
•  They  shall  mount  up  with  wings  as  eagles  ; 
they  shall  run,  and  not  be  weary ;  they  shall 
walk,  and  not  faint.' 

"  My  dear  Jim,  there  ben't  no  such  thing  as 
this  slow  and  sure  o'  yours.  When  the  top  do 
spin  slow  he's  sure  to  come  down.  'Tisn't  the 
way  the  angels  told  Lot.  Escape  for  thy  life  ; 
tarry  not  in  all  the  plain ;  and  I  don't  think  we 
shall  get  off  easier  than  he  did.  And,  'tisn't 
the  way  Paul  knew  any  thing  about ;  for  says 
he,  Run  the  race  set  before  you.     He  don't  say 


56  Daniel  Quorm. 

any  thing  about  creepin',  and  it  be  best  to  stick 
to  the  word,  Jim. 

"  Slow  an'  sure  ! — a-eem  to  me  that  every  thing 
be  the  other  way  about.  The  old  tempter, 
whatever  other  failin's  he've  got,  ha'nt  got  that 
there — he  do  go  about  like  a  great  roarin'  lion, 
seeking  whom  he  may  devour,  an'  if  we  go 
creepin'  along  he's  sure  to  come  springin'  out 
'pon  us  all  unawares — an'  serve  us  right,  for  we 
tempt  him  even  if  he  could  have  had  enough 
afore  we  come  by.  Time  is  swift  and  sure, 
Jim ;  and  death  is  swift  and  sure.  And  then 
the  love  of  Jesus  is  swift  and  sure.  Ah  !  bless 
the  Lord,  how  swift  and  sure  that  is  you  know, 
Jim,  as  well  as  the  rest !  When  he  was  yet  a 
great  way  off,  his  father  saw  him,  and  had  com- 
passion, and  ran — ran." — And  Dan'el's  voice 
spoke  with  a  tenderness  that  brought  the  tears 
to  every  eye. — "No  creepin'  then,  or  walkin 
either.  He  'ran,  and  fell  on  his  neck,  and 
kissed  him.'  Ah,  bless  the  Lord  ;  that's  his  way 
always — and  his  way  be  always  best ! "  And 
he  brushed  away  the  tears  as  he  finished  - 
"  Come,  friends,  let  us  sing  a  hymn, — 

My  soul  through  my  Redeemer's  care, 
Saved  from  the  second  death  I  feel.' 


Brother  Dan  V/ on  "  Slow  and  Sure"      57 
Second  verse, — 

-   '  Wherefore  to  Him  my  feet  shall  run  ; ' 

''That's  it, — nm. 

"  My  eyes  on  his  perfections  gaze ; 
My  soul  shall  live  for  God  alone  ; 
And  all  within  me  shout  his  praise.*  ** 


ss 


Daniel  Quorm. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"IT'S   THE   LORD'S   WILL,  YOU    KNOW. 


T  was  at  the  class- 
meeting  on  TueS' 
day  night.  The 
wild  west  wind 
came  sweeping 
round  the  house 
fierce  and  furious 
— now  rattling  at 
the  window,  and 
then  roaring  in 
the  chimney,  and 
then  sinking  into 
a  low  moan,  whin- 
ing at  the  key- 
hole as  if  its  blustering  had  failed,  and  it  had 
taken  to  entreaty  instead ;  then  suddenly  it 
grew  enraged  again,  as  if  ashamed  of  its  weak- 
ness, and  seemed  to  make  the  "very  ground 
tremble  as  it  roared  and  thundered  away  up 
the  wild  hill-side. 


''Ifs  the  Lord's  Will,  You  Know."         59 

Here  in  the  sanded  front-room  at  Thomas 
Toms'  sat  the  members  of  Brother  Quorm's 
class.  Only  a  few  to-night,  foi  many  lived 
across  the  moors,  and  some  a  mile  away  ovef 
the  fields  ;  and  even  Dan'el  could  excuse  those 
who  tarried  at  home  on  such  a  night  as  this. 
The  storm  itself  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
talk  of  that  evening,  only  it  came  somehow  to 
be  inseparably  bound  up  with  the  memories 
of  it. 

The  meeting  had  opened  quietly  enough  with 
a  "  trumpet  meter,"  followed  by  a  hearty  prayer. 
Two  or  three  had  spoken,  but  it  was  not  until 
Widow  Pascoe's  turn  came  that  the  memorable 
talk  of  that  evening  began.  There  she  sat,  in 
a  huge  bonnet  of  rusty  black,  the  very  capa- 
cious widow's  cap  gathered  about  a  face  which 
was  always  "  in  mourning."  That  mouth  of 
itself  rendered  crape  altogether  superfluous,  the 
long  thin  lips  drawn  down  at  the  corners,  and 
tucked  away  under  the  wrinkles  and  furrows, 
as  if  to  keep  it  in  its  place.  The  languidly- 
closed  eyes,  the  solemn  shake  of  the  head,  the 
deep  sigh,  and  then  the  long-drawn  melancholy 
words  in  which  she  told  of  her  troubles  and 
trials,    were    unfailing    characteristics    of    hei 


Co  Daniel  Quorm. 

experience ;  and  to-night  her  favorite  phrases 
kept  coming  in  continually — "submit  to  his 
will,"  "done  and  suffered  his  will."  No  belief 
was  ever  more  deeply  wrought  into  any  heart 
than  this  into  the  widow's — that  it  was  the  will 
of  the  heavenly  Father  that  she  should  be  al- 
ways in  trouble ;  to-day  was  given  only  that  she 
might  find  in  it  some  new  sorrow ;  each  hour 
came  only  to  lay  another  burden  upon  her,  and 
to-morrow  already  hinted  at  some  threatening 
evil.  She  would  almost  have  doubted  her  re- 
ligion if  she  could  not  find  in  every  thing  some- 
thing to  sigh  over.  With  her  the  truest  sign 
of  grace  was  "to  walk  mournfully."  Heaven 
itself  to  her  mind  was  a  sort  of  compensation 
paid  to  those  who  endured  the  hurts  and  dam- 
ages of  religion  in  this  life, 

As  the  widow  finished,  Dan'el  looked  up  at 
her  almost  fiercely  with  his  one  little  eye.  But 
immediately  a  sad  expression  crept  over  it. 
"  *  Submit  to  his  will,*  '  suffer  his  will'  Is  that 
all  that  the  will  of  God  is  for,  that  we  may  en- 
dure it,  and  suffer  it  1 "  And  Dan'el  sighed  a 
great  pitiful  sigh.  After  a  long  pause,  in  which 
the  wild  storm  outside  seemed  to  burst  with 
more  fury,  he  went  on  in  a  gentler  tone,  "  Bless 


*'Ifs  the  Lord's  Willy  You  Know:'        6l 

his  holy  name,  he  is  our  loving  Father  ;  and  we 
go  asking  for  grace  to  submit  to  his  will,  and  go 
talking  about  suffering  his  will !  " 

Dan'el  suddenly  broke  off  his  remarks,  as  if 
he  had  no  hope  of  ever  setting  the  widow  right ; 
and,  with  another  pitiful  sigh,  he  passed  on  to 
the  next. 

Now  it  happened  that  the  next  was  John 
Trundle,  the  busy  village  shop-keeper.  A  man 
with  whom  business  was  the  great  end  of  Hfe, 
and  religion  a  very  advisable  precaution  in  case 
of  emergency  ;  much  as  a  man  thinks  it  prudent 
to  insure  his  life.  Indeed,  religion  was  to  him 
just  that — a  Prudential  Assurance;  and  the 
class-meeting  was  only  the  agency  through 
which  he  paid  his  insurance  money,  a  quarterly 
account.  His  little  fortune  had  been  invested 
in  some  adjoining  Wheal  Gambler — a  mine  in 
which  he  was  to  find  prodigious  wealth  ;  but 
the  golden  visions  slowly  faded,  and  the  mine 
was  given  up,  having  afforded  only  a  deep,  dark 
grave  in  which  Mr.  Trundle  had  buried  most 
of  his  savings.  Vexation  and  disappointment 
had  brought  him  more  regularly  to  class ;  at 
least  for  a  little  while.  Perhaps  it  was  the 
moaning  wind  outside,  or  perhaps  it  was  Sister 


62  Daniel  Quorm. 

Pascoe's  mcurnfulness,  or  perhaps,  and  proba- 
bly, it  was  the  prevailing  thought  of  his  mind, 
that  led  him  at  once  to  allude  to  his  recent 
losses.  He  had  been  going  through  deep 
waters,  he  said,  had  been  called  to  pass  through 
severe  trials  ;  "  But  there,"  said  he,  "  it  be  the 
Lord's  will,  you  know,"  and  he  hoped  he  should 
have  the  grace  to  bear  it. 

Before  John  Trundle  had  finished  it  was  evi- 
dent that  something  was  moving  Dan'el's  soul 
to  its  depths.  The  little  eye  opened  with  aston- 
ishment ;  the  mouth  was  pursed  up  as  if  it  were 
going  to  whistle  with  amazement,  the  round 
bullet  head  nodded  sharply,  and  at  last  the 
words  were  jerked  out  somewhat  fiercely : — 

"  Umph  !  '  The  Lord's  will,  you  know ! ' 
Well,  I  must  say  I  don't  know  it,  John,  and  I 
don't  think  it  either.  Not  a  bit  of  it.  The 
Lord's  will !  I  went  over  the  moors  t'other 
night  without  a  lantern,  and  tumbled  in  a  big 
hole,  and  I  said,  *  Dan'el,  you  are  an  old  stoopid 
for  to  go  wi'out  your  lantern,  serve  you  right! 
But  I  didn't  think  it  was  the  Lord's  will,  John, 
and  I  hope  I  shan't  be  so  foolish  again." 

Then  he  stopped  suddenly,  as  if  a  new  idea 
had  shot  across  his  mind,  and  passing  over  the 


''It's  the  Lord's  Will,  You  Knowr       63 

next  two  or  three,  he  turned  to  an  old  man  who 
sat  in  the  corner  of  the  room  by  the  fire. 

It  was  dear  old  Frankey  Vivian.  There  he 
sat  in  the  ruddy  glow  of  the  firelight,  with  the 
deep  shadows  of  the  corner  behind  him.  Very 
feeble,  weakness  had  given  him  an  appearance 
of  age  much  beyond  his  years  ;  and  as  he  leaned 
there  upon  his  stick  in  this  light,  he  looked  like 
some  old  patriarch  who  had  turned  his  back 
upon  the  shadows  of  the  world,  and  was  stand- 
ing on  the  threshold  of  the  celestial  city,  wait- 
ing only  for  the  summons  to  come  in.  His  case 
was  too  common  in  those  mining  districts  before 
the  recent  improvements  had  been  introduced. 
Climbing  up  the  ladders  by  which  men  came 
from  immense  depths  below ;  coming  from  the 
hot  air  underground  in  wet  clothes,  and  step- 
ping at  once  into  the  keen  winds  that  swept 
"  up  to  grass,"  as  the  surface  was  called — poet- 
ically, for  scarce  a  blade  was  to  be  found  in  all 
the  stony  waste  of  the  mine — these  things  had 
done  their  work  upon  a  naturally  weak  consti- 
tution, and  now  he  was  in  the  last  stage  of  asth- 
matic consumption.  Unable  to  work,  and  hav- 
ing a  large  family  to  be  cared  for  somehow,  his 
was  a  sad  story.     He  lived  so  near  by  that  he 


64  Daniel  Quorm. 

could  easily  slip  in  "  to  the  meetin',"  and  very 
rarely  was  his  corner  vacant  even  on  such  a 
night  as  this. 

With  a  touch  of  tenderness,  and  with  a  very 
evident  relief,  Dan'el  turned  to  him. 

"  The  Lord  bless  thee,  dear  Frankey.  Come, 
tell  us  what  the  Lord's  will  is  to  thee." 

The  pale,  wasted  face  moved  with  deep  feel- 
ing ;  the  thin  white  hands  passed  to  and  fro 
over  the  handle  of  the  stick  nervously ;  the 
tears  gathered  in  his  eyes  : — 

"  The  Lord's  will ! "  gasped  the  old  man. 
"  Why,  this,  ray  dear  leader,  this — *  Goodness 
and  mercy  shall  follow  me  all  the  days  o'  my 
life ;  and  I  will  dwell  in  the  house  o'  the  Lord 
forever ! '  Bless  his  holy  Name — that,  nothing 
else  but  that.  Why,  there  was  only  last  Satur- 
day afternoon  :  I  was  very  poorly  ;  my  cough 
shook  me  all  to  bits,  and  I  was  lying  'pon  my 
bed.  Yet  my  soul  was  full  of  praise  to  God  for 
all  his  goodness.  Bless  his  Name,  I  says,  why 
this  here  shakin'  cough  be  only  like  the  joltin' 
o'  the  van  over  the  ruts  and  stones  as  it  be  a 
carryin'  us  home.  And  some  day  it'll  give  the 
last  jolt,  and  stop  right  afore  the  door  o'  my 
Father's  house,  and,  bless  him,  he'll  come  out 


''It's  the  Lord's  Will,  You  Knowr       65 

to  take  his  child  into  his  arms,  and  I  shall  be 
home  for  ever  and  ever.  To  think  of  it !  home  ! 
aye,  and  with  breath  for  to  praise  my  Lord,  too. 
I  was  a  sayin'  over  them  words,  '  Bless  the  Lord, 
ye  his  angels,  that  excel  in  strength.'  Excel  in 
strength.  And  I  thought  how  I  would  be  a-fly- 
ing  in  a  little  while,  and  how  I  would  sweep  the 
harp,  and  how  swift  I  would  go  for  my  dear 
Lord,  a  sailin'  along  'pon  a  pair  o'  glorious 
wings,  how  grand  it  would  be !  My  soul  was 
all  full  of  it,  when  up  come  my  wife,  and  she 
sat  down  at  the  foot  o*  the  bed,  and  she  flings 
her  hands  all  helpless  like  down  before  her. 

"*Frankey/  says  she,  a'most  a  chokin,' 
*  Frankey,  whatever  shall  us  do.  There  ben't 
a  bit  o'  bread  in  the  house  agen  the  children 
come  home.' 

"  '  What  shall  us  do,  my  dear  t '  I  says.  *  Why 
think  of  the  blessed  Father  who  tells  us  to  call 
upon  him  in  the  day  of  trouble,  and  he  will  hear 
us.     And  he  will,  too,  I  know.' 

"  *  Seemin'  to  me  he  must  have  forgot  us,* 
says  she,  bursting  out  a-cryin'. 

" '  Forgot  us,  wife  ! '  I  says.  '  Forgot  us  !  Bless 
his  holy  name,  it  wouldnt  be  like  him.  He 
don't  ever   forget      He    has    been    round   and 


66  Daniel  Quorm. 

about  us,  our  Friend  and  Helper  these  twenty 
years,  and  it  wouldn't  be  like  him  to  leave  us 
now,  just  when  we  want  him  most.  That  isn't 
the  way  he  does.'  And  I  began  to  say  over  the 
hundred  and  forty-sixth  Psalm  that  I  do  dearly 
love :  '  While  I  live  I  will  praise  the  Lord :  I 
will  sing  praises  unto  my  God  while  I  have  any 
being.  .  .  .  Happy  is  he  that  hath  the  God  of 
Jacob  for  his  help,  whose  hope  is  in  the  Lord 
his  God.  There,  wifie,  isn't  that  pretty  music 
now.  *  Which  keepeth  truth  forever.'  Hear 
that,  I  says.  '  Keepeth  truth  forever.  Which 
giveth  food  to  the  hungry.'  Bless  Him,  why 
it's  put  there  a-purpose  for  you  and  me.* 

" '  Well,'  says  she,  wipin'  her  eyes  with  her 
apron,  *  I  s'pose  it  be  the  Lord's  will,  and  we 
must  bear  it.' 

"  The  tears  came  in  my  eyes  then.  *  O,  my 
dear !  don't  'e  talk  like  that,'  I  says,  *  don't  'e 
talk  like  that  there,  now.  It  be  no  more  the 
will  of  our  blessed  Father  that  our  children 
should  want  bread  than  it  be  your  will  or  mine. 
It  do  hurt  me  to  hear  folks  talk  like  that  about 
my  Lord.  It  is  not  the  will  of  your  Father 
which  is  in  heaven  that  one  of  these  little  ones 
should  perish,  that  be  the  Lord's  will,'  I  says. 


''It's  the  Lord's  Will,  You  Knowr        67 

like  as  a  Father  pitieth  his  children,  so  the 
Lord  pitieth  them  that  fear  him.  Why,  the 
Book  is  full  of  it,  and  we  ought  not  to  go  talkin' 
about  our  blessed  Father  like  that' 

"Well,  just  then  there  came  a  double  knock 
to  the  door.  It  ben't  very  often  that  we  do 
have  a  letter,  so  the  wife  jumps  up  and  runs 
down  stairs.     In  a  minute  she  shouts  up  to  me, 

" '  Frankey,  here's  a  letter  from  our  boy  in 
Australia.'-  And  then  in  a  minute  more  she 
comes  runnin'  up  to  me,  and  cries  out — '  Why, 
there's  a  five-pound  note  in  it !  Bless  his  dear 
heart !'     And  tears  of  joy  ran  down  our  cheeks. 

"  Ah,  wifie,"  says  I,  holdin'  up  the  note,  "  look 
here ;  that  be  the  Lord's  will,  and  we  must  bear 
it.  Bless  his  holy  Name,  he  '  keepeth  truth  for- 
ever^ " 

Every  eye  was  dimmed  as  Frankey  finished 
his  simple  story.  Dan'el  now  had  a  fair  field, 
and  all  the  gathering  feelings  and  thoughts  of 
the  evening  broke  out  with  a  triumph. 

"  That's  it,  Frankey,"  he  cried.    "  Sure  enough 

that's  just  it.     The   Lord's  will  isn't  starving 

children.     'Which  executeth  judgment  for  the 

oppressed  ;    which  giveth  food  to  the  hungry.' 

*  The  Lord's  uill,yoii  know.'     Why  people  don't 
6 


68  Daniel  Quorm. 

stop  to  think  what  they  mean  when  they  talk 
about  it.  The  words,  perhaps,  are  right  enough 
by  theirselves,  but  folks  use  'em  to  wrap  up 
more  nonsense  and  more  sin  than  any  other 
five  words  in  the  world.  There's  poor  Jem 
Polsue,  lives  up  to  Bray.  I  dropt  in  to  see  him 
a  few  days  a-gone.  He  lost  his  wife  of  fever, 
and  he  himself  wasn't  expected  to  get  over  it. 
I  went  in  and  prayed  with  him,  and  saw  how 
<-he  little  place  had  been  stripped  by  want,  and 
I  know'd  what  a  long  spell  he  would  have  of 
it  yet. 

"Jem,"  I  says,  'I'm  very  sorry  for  'e,  and  I 
must  try  to  help  'e  a  bit.' 

"  *  Well,  we  musn't  be  sorry,  Dan'el,'  says  he. 

*  It  be  the  Lord's  will,  you  know,  and  we  must 
bear  it.* 

"  It  made  me  quite  short-tempered  to  hear  it. 

*  What ! '  says  I,  '  God's  will  that  your  landlord 
should  let  you  live  in  a  place  like  this,  with 
these  drains  about  here,  poisonin'  you  with  the 
stench,  an'  poisonin'  the  water  you  drink !  It 
be  very  different  from  God's  will,  Jem.  I've 
just  a-come  up  over  the  hill-side,  and  all  the  air 
was  sweet  with  his  own  breath,  furze  blossoms 
and  flowers ;  and  then  up  in  the  clear  blue  sky 


''It's  the  Lord's  Willy  You  Know r        69 

a  lark  was  singing  lovely  as  ever  you  heard,  and 
every  thing  was  so  pretty  as  the  Almighty  him- 
self could  make  it.  An'  then  I  came  in  here, 
and  I  see  this  slimy  pond,  and  this  black  drain, 
and  I  couldn't  help  thinkin  how  different  the 
Lord  would  have  it.  It  bent  his  blessed  will 
that  landlords  should  be  misers  and  fools,  and 
next  door  to  murderers,  Jem  ;  and  all  the  relig- 
ion in  the  world  wouldn't  make  me  own  to  that.'  " 

Widow  Pascoe  actually  opened  her  eyes  and 
half  opened  her  mouth  ;  a  sufficient  evidence 
of  her  amazement  at  such  an  extraordinary 
statement.  That  dirt  and  wretchedness  were 
not  the  will  of  God :  it  smacked  of  heresy ! 

Dan'el  went  on  again  fiercely :  "I  can't  abide 
to  hear  folks  talkin'  about  it;  puttin'  down 
every  thing  that  is  sad,  and  bad,  and  miserable, 
to  be  the  Lord's  will."  The  little  eye  J:urned 
its  sharp  glance  full  upon  Brother  Trundle. 
"  It  ben't  the  Lord's  will,  but  just  our  own  folly 
very  often  that  makes  the  Lord  deal  with  us  a 
bit  hardly.  Fancy  Eve  a-comin'  out  of  Para- 
dise, and  when  the  earth  begins  to  get  covered 
with  thorns  and  briers,  and  Adam  has  to  go 
earnin'  hxS  daily  bread  by  the  sweat  o'  his  brow, 
she  says,  '  Well,  you  know,  it's  the  Lord's  will. 


70  Daniel  Quorm. 

and  we  must  bear  it.'  Not  a  bit  of  it.  They 
knew  that  the  Lord's  will  was  Paradise.  The 
Lord's  will  was  all  the  fruit,  and  flowers,  and 
beauty  of  Eden.  It  was  right  against  the  will 
of  their  Father  that  there  should  come  these 
thorns  and  things,  and  weariness  and  sorrow  ; 
only  it  was  just  what  their  sins  forced  the  Lord 
to  do.  When  I  was  a  little  chap  my  father  had 
to  give  me  a  thrashin'  one  day,  and  sent  me  up 
in  the  garret  to  finish  the  day  on  dry  bread  and 
water.  Do  you  think  I  said,  '  It's  my  father's 
will,  and  I  must  bear  it .?  *  No  ;  I  knew  too 
much  about  myself  to  do  any  thing  like  that. 
His  will  !  Why  I  can  mind  now  how  his  lip 
quivered,  and  how  grieved  he  looked,  and  I 
knew  it  was  all  along  o*  my  own  foolin',  and  it 
just  served  me  right. 

"  Aad  if  a  man  goes  a-forgettin'  his  heavenly 
Father  and  neglectin'  the  means  in  makin'  mon- 
ey, and  is  comin'  to  love  it  till  it  be  a'most 
chokin'  the  grace  out  of  him,  the  Lord  is  forced 
to  take  some  of  it  away,  or  to  let  him  go  and 
tling  it  away,  which  comes  to  just  the  same 
thing.  And  then  the  man  begins  to  talk  quite 
religious  about  stiffervi  the  Lord's  will !  By 
all  means  let  him  suffer  the  Lord's  will,  which 


*'It's  the  Lord's  Will,  You  Know."        71 

to  my  thinkin  is  this  here  :  that  he  shouldn't 
love  what  he  has  got  left,  and  should  make  a 
better  use  o'  what  he  earns  another  day.  Why 
when  the  poor  old  squire  tumbled  down  in  a  fit, 
and  the  doctor  bled  him  to  bring  him  to  his 
senses,  he  didn't  talk  about  bearin'  the  doctor's 
will.  Every  body  knew  that  the  doctor  took  his 
blood  to  save  his  Ufe.  An'  seems  to  me  'twould 
save  us  a  heap  of  folly  if  we  were  so  wise  in 
our  religion  as  folks  be  about  every  thing  else 
a'most. 

"But  this  isn't  the  worst  of  it,  either.  I 
wouldn't  mind  so  much  if  people  put  in  the 
other  side  a  bit ;  but  they  wont  do  that.  No  ; 
'tis  only  what's  wisht,  and  dismal,  and  ugly — 
that  be  the  Lord's  will.  If  a  man  be  laid  'pon 
his  bed  in  a  raging  fever,  that's  the  Lord's  will ; 
but  if  the  fever  don't  come  near  to  him  nor  to 
any  body  else,  why  that's  nothing  at  all.  Poor 
old  uncle  Jan  Kevern  be  doubled  up  a'most  with 
rheumatics  ;  that's  the  Lord's  will,  you  know. 
But  I  can  stick  to  my  last  all  day,  and  make  a 
pair  o'  shoes,  and  nobody  ever  thinks  that  that 
is  the  will  of  our  blessed  Father.  I  do  dearly 
love  that  hundred  and  fourth  psalm  :  '  My  med- 
itation of  him  shall  be  sweet;  says  David.     But 


^2  Daniel  QiiORM. 

our  meditations  of  him  be  all  that  is  doleful  and 
dull.  David  sang  about  the  will  of  the  Lord 
when  he  saw  the  man  going  forth  to  his  work, 
and  to  his  labor  unto  the  evening.  Sang  about 
it,  too.  But  we  sigh  about  the  Lord's  will  only 
when  a  man  be  kept  home  all  day,  or  when  he 
be  a  going  to  die,  and  leave  a  widow  and  half  a 
score  of  little  children.  Why,  bless  the  Lord  ! 
his  will  has  got  quite  as  much  to  do  with  health 
as  with  sickness,  an'  more  too." 

"Bless  him,  that  it  have,  dear  leader!"  re- 
sponded Frankey  from  his  corner,  with  much 
fervor. 

Dan'el  went  on  again,  without  fierceness  now  ; 
with  a  gentleness  and  tenderness  that  came 
from  his  heart.  "  Aye,  my  dear  friends,  I  often 
think  about  it  when  I  be  a-doin'  up  my  bit  o* 
garden  down  to  my  place.  People  talk  as  if  the 
blessed  Master  only  got  fruit  out  of  us  with  a 
priinin  knife  !  always  stanin'  over  us,  an'  a  cut- 
tin'  here,  and  a  loppin'  there.  Why,  bless  his 
name,  sunshine  and  showers,  and  the  gentle 
south  winds,  have  a  deal  more  to  do  with  a  bunch 
of  grapes  than  prunin'  knives  have.  We  do  want 
a  bit  o'  prunin'  now  an'  then,  I  dare  say,  but 
don't  e  go  a  thinkin*  about  the  dear  Lord  as 


''It's  the  Lord's  Will,  You  Knowr        73 

only  standin*  over  us  for  that.  A  standin'  there 
with  all  his  kindness  and  care — why  he  is  train- 
in'  the  branches,  and  is  watching  over  us,  and 
wardin'  off  blights,  and  keepin'  off  enemies- 
slugs,  and  snails,  and  such  like,  that  do  harbor 
in  a  man's  soul  ;  and  his  gentleness  and  loving 
care  have  a  deal  more  to  do  with  the  fruit  than 
the  knife  has. 

"  O,  don't  let  us  always  be  a  talking  about 
bearin'  his  will,  and  sufferin'  his  will.  Let's 
talk  about  enjoyhi  his  will.  When  the  baby  is 
pinin'  away  and  sickly,  an'  dyin',  that  be  his 
will,  perhaps  ;  but  that  be  his  will,  too,  when 
the  baby  be  a  great  big  thumpin'  boy,  and 
thrives  uncommon.  It  be  God's  will,  perhaps 
— if  it  ben't  our  own  carelessness — when  the 
house  be  burnt  down,  and  we  escape  with  our 
lives.  But  it  be  the  Lord's  will,  too,  all  the  days 
that  we  come  and  go,  and  find  all  safe  and 
sound.  The  Father's  will  isn't  that  we  should 
be  out  in  a  far  country  perishin'  with  hunger. 
His  will  is  the  best  robe  and  the  fatted  calf; 
the  comin'  home,  and  the  being  merry.  'My 
meditation  of  him  shall  be  sweet!  You  may  say 
what  you  like  about  sujferhi  the  Lord's  will;  I 
shall  talk  about  enjoying  it,  and  delighting  in  it." 


74  Daniel  Quorm. 

"  So  will  I,  bless  him,"  said  Frankey. 

Even  Widow  Pascoe  looked  as  if  a  little  light 
had  come  across  her  mournins:  face  as  that 
evening  finished  with  the  hymn — 

"  God  of  my  life,  through  all  my  days 
My  grateful  powers  shall  sound  thy  praise  ; 
My  song  shall  wake  with  opening  light, 
And  cheer  the  dark  and  silent  night. 

"  The  cheerful  tribute  will  I  give 
Long  as  a  deathless  soul  shall  live : 
A  work  so  sweet,  a  theme  so  high^ 
Demands  and  crowns  eternity," 


"  Catchin'  'em  with  GuileV 


CHAPTER   VIII. 


CATCHIN'    'EM   WITH   tSUlLE. 


^^PM 


F  all  the  good  folks, 
old  or  young,  in 
the  little  village  of 
Penwinnin,  none 
was  a  greater  fa- 
vorite with  Dan'el 
than  young  Cap- 
tain Joe.  His  preb- 
ence"  at  class"  had 
much  influence  on 
the  "religious  no- 
tions," and  his  sto- 
ry was  one  that 
Dan'el  used  to  tell  with  unfailing  pleasure.  In- 
deed, Uncle  Dan'el  deemed  himself  a  sort  of  spir- 
itual father  to  Cap'n  Joe,  inasmuch  as  the  latter 
had  always  been  under  his  religious  care. 

He  had  begun  life  as  a  poor  lad,  without  any 
advantage  of  education  or  position  ;  rather,  in- 
deed, with  all  the  disadvantages  that  could  gathei 


76  Daniel  Quorm. 

about  him.  His  father  was  adissolute  man,  whose 
wit  had  once  been  the  Hfe  of  the  pubUc-house ; 
but  that  Hght  had  long  since  been  quenched, 
and  there  was  left  only  a  bloated  half-drunk 
idler,  loafing  about  the  public-house  for  any  odd 
job  that  might  turn  up.  The  half-starved  wife 
and  mother  lived  in  a  wretched  home,  trying  to 
bring  up  this  only  child  as  best  they  could. 

But  as  a  little  lad  Joe  had  taken  a  very  prac- 
tical view  of  his  own  case.  He  had  nobody  else 
to  help  him,  and  by  that  circumstance  seemed 
only  impelled  to  do  so  much  the  more  to  help  him- 
self Reading  and  writing  were  soon  mastered, 
and  there  early  appeared  the  promise  of  what  he 
would  be. 

Dan'el's  quick  eye  had  seen  him  in  the  Sun 
day-school ;  and  the  little  cobbler's  shop  be- 
came a  sort  of  night  school,  where  Joe  learned 
many  a  lesson,  and  picked  up  much  good  ad- 
vice. He  had  begun  as  a  common  miner,  but 
rose  in  the  confidence  of  those  about  him,  until 
now  he  was  dignified  as  Captain  Joe,  an  under 
manager  of  the  mine,  and  had  left  his  old  teach- 
er behind  him  in  all  but  shrewdness  and  com- 
mon sense. 

Dan'el  used  to  tell  with  much  glee  how  young 


"  Catchin  'em  with  Guile "  77 

C..p'n  Joe  had  done  the  purser  of  the  mine,  a 
hard,  snappish,  sour  old  screw,  whose  delight 
was  in  grinding  every  body  down. 

"  He  came  in  here  laughin'  one  evening,"  said 
Dan'el,  and  the  little  bright  eye  flashed  with  a 
joyous  humor  over  the  broad-rimmed  spectacles. 

"  '  Catchin'  'em  with  guile  be  scriptural,  Dan'el, 
ben't  it  ? '  he  began,  and  I  knew  there  was  some- 
thing queer  comin,  but  couldn't  guess  what  it 


was. 


'  Depends  what  kind  o'  guile  it  is,  and  what 
it  be  a  goin  to  do,'  I  answered— cautious,  for  I 
didn't  know  what  was  comin'. 

"  *  Why  the  men  up  to  mine  have  wanted  a 
dryin'-room  for  ever  so  long,  you  know,  comin' 
up  hot  and  damp  as  they  do ;  it  be  enough  for 
to  give  'em  their  death  o'  cold  to  go  out  ever 
so  far  in  the  wind  and  rain,'  says  Cap'n  Joe, 
lookin'  just  as  queer  as  he  did  at  first. 

"'That  it  be,  Joe,'  I  says,  'but  men  be  only 
men,  you  know.  The  Pharisees  might  pull  out 
a  sheep  or  an  ox,  but  then  they  were  worth 
something.  But  men  are  such  common  kind  o' 
creatures,  and  so  different.  If  they  were  only 
horses,  or  pigs  even,  folks  would  take  some  care 
of  'em  ;  but  they  be  only  men,  and  you  can't 


78  Daniel  Quorm. 

sell  them,  at  least  in  this  here  country.  Well, 
Joe?' 

"  *  Well,  what  I  do  say  about  it  be  nothing  at 
all ;  for  the  purser  will  have  it  all  his  own 
way.  He'd  say  ''Yes,"  just  contrary  like,  if  I 
said  "  No."  He  be  like  the  "  bob  "  to  the  en- 
gine, that  do  dip  down  just  because  the  other 
end  do  tip  up,'  says  the  young  cap'n. 

"'Well,  but,'  says  I,  'you  might  speak  your 
mind  about  it,  Joe.  It  would  be  a  comfort  to 
give  your  testimony  to  what  be  right,  even  if 
nobody  don't  receive  it.  Besides,  you  can't 
shake  the  dust  of  your  feet  agen  'em  till  you 
ha.ve  done  that  much.* 

" '  No,  Dan'el,  it  would  only  harden  him,  and 
make  him  more  determined.  I've  had  to  catch 
him  with  guile.' 

"  '  You  have  } '  I  cried,  quite  curious  to  hear 
about  it." 

And  Dan'el  hfted  his  spectacles  on  to  his 
forehead  as  he  told  of  it,  as  if  his  curiosity  al- 
ways revived  at  this  point  by  some  subtle  law 
of  association. 

"  So  then  Joe  told  me  about  it,"  said  Dan'el. 
" '  You  see,'  he  says,  '  the  men  kep'  on  comin* 
to  me  about  it ;  'twas  always  the  same  thing. 


Catchhi  'em  with  Guile'.'  79 

Till  last  of  all,  I  says  to  'em,  "Well,  look  here, 
'tis  no  good  to  keep  tellin'  me  about  it,  men. 
The  purser  must  give  the  orders.  But  now, 
'spose  I  say  you  sha'n  t  have  a  dryin'-room,  and 
I  wont  let  'e  have  it,  and  you  go  up  and  tell 
the  purser  what  I  have  said."  So  three  o'  'em 
goes  up  to  the  office,  and  sees  the  purser.  He 
was  oncommon  cross  and  gruff,  even  for  him, 
and  so  soon  as  they  began  for  to  speak  about  a 
dryin'-room  he  gets  into  a  rage.  "Dryin'- 
room!"  he   halloos  out,  "I  dare  say  you  do. 

Ump  !     You'll  want  dinner  provided  next,  and 
a  champagne  luncheon,  I  s'pose.    Certainly,  cer- 
tainly !    What  next  will  you  want,  I  wonder  t  " 
" '  Well,  sir,'  says  the  men, '  we  spoke  to  young 

Cap'n  Joe  about  it.' 

"  '  O,  you  spoke  to  him  did  you  }     And  what 

did  he  say  t ' 

"  •  Why,  he  said  as  he  wasn't  a-goin'  to  speak 

to  you  about  it  at  all,  but  would  speak  right  off 

on  his  own  authority,  and  that  we  shouldn't 

have  it — that  we  shouldn't.' 

"  '  The  men  say  as  he  got  into  a  towerin'  rage. 

"  He  said  you  shouldn't ! "  he  cries  out.    "  Cap'n 

Joe,  indeed  !     Who's  he,  I  should  like  to  know? 

I'll  let  him  know  who's   master  up  here— the 


8o  Daniel  Quorm. 

young  upstart.  Go  down  and  tell  him  that  1 
said  you  shoidd  have  it — /  said  so,  and  tell  him 
to  see  about  it  at  once."  And  they  said  that  he 
went  on  mutterin'  about  it  for  an  hour  after.' 

" '  Well  done,  Joe,'  says  I,  laughing  out  loud. 
*  Aye,  yes,  my  dear,  yes,  it  be  quite  lawful  for  to 
catch  'em  with  guile.'  '* 


'Pray in  Breath  is  Never  Spent  in  Vain,"  8i 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"  PRAYIN'  BREATH  IS  NEVER  SPENT  IN  VAIN." 

'AH!  what's  that,  my  dear  ?  *  Prayin 
•^  ^  breath  never  spent  in  vain  ? ' " 
And  there  was  a  long  pause  in  which  the  lit- 
tle bullet  head  shook  itself,  and  the  keen  little 
eye  peered  over  the  broad-rimmed  spectacles, 
and  the  honest  man  who  had  thus  completed 
his  experience  looked  up  in  some  amazement 
that  such  a  common  phrase  could  be  any  thing 
but  Gospel. 

"That  ben't  in  the  Scriptures,  my  dear, 
though  I  believe  many  folks  do  reckon  it  be. 
But  it  isn't  there,  and  if  folks  would  look  for  il 
they  would  find  something  a  deal  truer.  They 
would  find  this — *  Ye  ask,  and  receive  not,  because 
ye  ask  amiss!  Now  I  do  reckon  that  there's  a 
good  half  of  the  prayin'  breaths  as  be  spent  in 
vain.  Half  !  why,  nearer  ninety  out  of  every 
hundred.  What  with  one  thing  and  another 
that  be  amiss,  it's  well  if  one  out  a  hundred  be 
worth  any  thing  at  all.     It  be  only  another  o' 


82  Daniel  Quorm. 

them  common  sayings  that  be  lies  that  would 
have  gone  rotten  and  been  flung  away  long  ago, 
only  that  there's  just  a  grain  o'  the  salt  o'  truth 
in  'em  to  keep  'em  alive. 

"  Why,  now,  whenever  we  pray  for  what  we 
don't  want,  neither  7teedin  it,  nor  desirin  to  have 
it,  that's  a  pray  in'  breath  spent  in  vain.  And 
that's  more  than  half  our  prayers.  I  overtook 
a  young  fellow,  the  other  day,  a  good  sort  of  a 
young  man,  too,  and  I  says,  '  Well,  John,  and 
how's  the  soul  prosperin'  t ' 

"  *  Don't  know,'  says  he  in  a  melancholy  kind 
of  a  way :  and  the  way  a  man  talks  about  his 
soul  is  more  than  what  he  says  very  often.  It's 
like  feelin'  the  pulse  and  tells  more  than  lookin' 
into  his  face.  *  Don't  know  ;  reckon  it  be  busy- 
all,'  says  he,  *  to  get  along.' 

"  '  Well,  now,'  I  said,  'just  let  me  ask  you  one 
question  that  may  explain  it  all  —  How  do  you 
pray,  John  1  " 

"'  Pray,  Dan'el,'  he  says,  wonderin',  'why  the 
same  as  other  people  do,  to  be  sure — 'pon  my 
knees.' 

"  '  Of  course  you  do,  John,'  I  says  ;  '  but  what 
do  'e  say  now } '  For,  my  dear  friends,  it  be  no 
good  a-goin'  hummin'  and  haa-in  about  it.     I  do 


**Prann  Breath  is  Never  Spent  in  Vain!'   83 

reckon  a  class-leader  be  like  a  doctor,  and  he 
must  find  out  what  be  wrong,  and  if  he  can't  do 
it  one  way  he  must  another.  And  he  must  go 
lookin'  and  listenin*  and  tryin*  till  he  have  found 
out,  and  then  he'll  have  a  chance  o'  curin.'  So 
I  says,  '■  Now  what  do  'e  say  ? ' 

"  '  Well,'  he  says,  quite  innocent,  '  my  mother 
taught  me  a  prayer  when  I  was  a  little  lad,  and 
I  do  say  that.' 

" '  Why,  my  dear  boy,'  I  says,  '  no  wonder 
you  don't  get  along !  Why,  I  expect  the  first 
thing  my  mother  taught  me  to  say  was, "  Please 
for  a  bit  o'  bread."  Now,  however  should  I 
have  got  along,  do  you  think,  if  I'd  always  gone 
on  sayin',  "  Please  for  a  bit  0'  bread  " — if  I  wanted 
leather  cr  brad-awls,  flower  seeds  or  lapstones, 
coats  or  bricks,  or  money,  or  any  thing  else, 
and  I'd  always  gone  sayin',  "  Please  for  a  bit  o* 
bread  .? " ' 

" '  O  ! '  says  he,  *  Dan'el,  that  be  very  different, 
o*  course.' 

"  *  How  different }  I  can't  see  that  it's  any 
different.  I  want  things  from  folks  about  me, 
and  I  go  and  tell  them  what  I  want,  and  I  stare 
if  I  don't  get  'em.  But  I  go  to  the  heavenly 
Father,  and,  never  mind  what  I  want,  I  just  go 


54  Daniel  Quorm. 

sayin'  over  and  over  the  same  things,  and  then 
I  talk  all  doleful  about  my  not  gettin  on  !  Why 
whatever  else  can  we  expect  ? ' 

"John  was  quiet  for  a  minute  or  two,  and 
then  says  he,  in  his  slow  way,  as  if  his  words 
came  out  in  drops  because  he  was  afraid  to  turn 
the  tap,  *  Well,  Dan'el,  I  never  thought  o'  that 
afore.'     And  he  turned  in  over  the  fields. 

"  Now  I  got  home,  thinkin'  that  I  had  let  a 
bit  o'  daylight  in  upon  him,  and  then  I  soon 
found  myself  trippin'  and  came  down  in  the 
dust.  I  was  kneelin'  down  at  prayer,  and  my 
thoughts  began  to  go  away  to  John  again,  my 
lips  goin'  on  all  the  time.  And  when  my 
thoughts  came  back  again  there  was  I  going 
over  an  old  sentence  about  forgivin'  the  sins  o' 
the  day.  I  stopped.  '  O,  Dan'el,'  I  says  out 
loud,  *  you  be  a  pretty  kind  of  a  teacher  to  talk 
to  other  people  about  pray  in'  for  what  they 
want !  Physician,  heal  thyself  !  What  sins  do 
you  want  forgiven  ?  and  if  you  want  'em  for- 
given, do  you  believe  you  are  goin'  to  get  it  by 
saying  a  phrase  like  that,  as  smooth  and  pat  as 
any  thing.''  '  Lord  forgive  me,*  I  says  with  all 
my  heart.  And  I  began  to  look  about  through 
the  day  to  find  what  I  did  want.     And  I  soon 


"Prayin  Breath  is  Never  Spent  in  Vain!'    85 

found  it,  my  friends,  a  deal  sooner  than  I 
thought  I  should.  About  eleven  o'clock  in  the 
niornin'  it  was  ;  I  mind  it  quite  well — there  was 
a  pair  o'  shoes  to  be  done  for  a  man  that  was 
goin'  away  to  California,  and  things  had  been 
goin'  wrong  all  day,  and  I  had  to  send  down  to 
Redburn  for  something,  and  the  boy  kept  me 
waitin'  and  then  brought  back  all  wrong,  and  I 
got  out  of  temper  with  him,  and  spoke  out 
sharp,  and  said  a  deal  more  than  I  ought  to 
have  said,  and  felt  a  good  deal  more  than  come 
out.  '  There,  Dan'el,'  I  says,  'you  need  forgive- 
ness for  that.  Repent  and  pray  about  that! 
Why  it  was  hke  another  thing  then.  It  began 
to  hurt  me,  and  the  tears  began  to  flow,  and  I 
meant  it  then  when  I  got  down  before  the  Lord 
and  prayed  that  I  might  be  forgiven.  And  I 
got  forgiven,  too ;  and  the  next  day  when  I 
came  down  I  called  the  boy  over  to  me,  and  I 
told  him  that  I  was  ashamed  of  myself  for  the 
way  I  had  gone  on  the  day  before,  an'  I  hoped 
he'd  forgive  me  for  I  was  very  sorry.  As  to  the 
boy,  why  I  never  knew  a  boy  change  so  in  my 
life  as  that  changed  him ;  seems  to  me  as  if  he 
can't  ever  be  thoughtful  and  steady  enough  now. 
Ah,  my  friends,  that  be  the  kind  of  breath  that 


86  Daniel  Quorm. 

bent  spent  in  vain !  When  a  man  feels  it,  and 
can  put  his  hand  right  upon  the  spot  and  say, 
*  Lord,  'tis  amiss  just  there,  and  'tis  hurting  me 
and  plaguin*  more  than  I  can  bear — Lord,  do  it 
good.'     Then  that  goes  right  up  to  heaven." 

"  We  can  manage  that  when  we  feel  any 
thing  deeply,  my  dear  leader,"  said  young  Cap'n 
Joe  from  his  place.  "Jacob  prayed  like  that 
when  he  was  a-goin'  to  meet  Esau.  But  I've 
wondered  how  he  prayed  next  day  when  it  was 
all  quiet  again  and  there  was  nothing  particular 
hangin'  over  him  !  " 

"Yes,  yes,  Cap'n  Joe,"  said  Dan'el  thought- 
fully, "  there  be  a  deal  in  that.  Well,  Frankey, 
my  dear,  tell  us  how  you  do  manage,"  and 
Dan'el  turned  with  a  loving  reverence  to  the 
old  man. 

"  Me,  my  dear  leader,  why  I  ha'an't  got  much 
to  tell.  Seems  to  me  'tis  like  this  here.  When 
I  do  kneel  down,  I  do  think,  and  feel  it  too — 
well,  here  be  another  day,  an'  I  don't  know 
what' 11  happen,  but  right  over  it  all  there  be  the 
wings  o'  my  Father  in  heaven,  and  all  day  long 
I  shall  be  in  under  them  there  wings,  and  no 
harm  can  come  to  me  in  there — bless  his  holy 
name!     And  my  heart  do  begin  to  sing  again, 


"Prayirt  Breath  is  Never  Spent  in  Vain!'    87 

and  goes  on  singin'  all  day  long.  An*  then 
when  the  night  be  come  again  I  do  think,  and 
feel  too,  like  as  if  the  wings  was  foldin'  in  round 
me,  and  I  put  myself  in  under  them,  and  I  do 
feel  such  a  blessed  rest  in  under  there — like  as 
if  it  were  so  safe,  and  so  warm,  and  so  comfort- 
able— nothing  could  hurt  me,  in  there,  ne'er 
man  nor  devil.     Bless  his  holy  name  !  " 

"  Well,  Frankey,  I  do  think  you've  got  hold 
o'  the  right  thing  aftei  all.  Thinkiii  about  it 
beforehand,  fixin*  your  thoughts  'pon  it.  Why, 
we  pray  like  we  don't  do  any  thing  else  in  the 
world.  There  be  plenty  o'  fools  that  go  a-shoot- 
in' — poppin'  at  the  larks,  an'  blackbirds,  and 
thrushes,  like  as  if  they  didn't  sing  for  their 
supper  an'  more  than  pay  for  all  the  harm  they 
do.  But  I  never  heard  tell  of  a  fool  who  fired 
his  gun  without  any  aim  ;  fired  it  off  anyhow 
and  anywhere,  and  then  expected  to  see  the 
bird  fall.  But  that  be  just  like  we  pray.  We 
don't  take  aim.  We  don't  think  beforehand. 
Frankey,  here,  have  explained  it  'zactly,  seems 
to  me.  Now,  suppose  to-morrow  mornin*  we 
kneel  down,  and  begin  to  think:  To-day  where 
am  I  goin'  to.^  what  shall  I  be  a-doin'  of.? 
What  grace  shall  I  need }     Where'll  the  devil 


88  Daniel  Quorm. 

be  lying-wait  for  me  ?  Thoughts  '11  come — • 
they'll  come,  and  we  shall  begin  to  find  out 
needs  enough  to  pray  about.  Why,  I  could 
a* most  pray  now  as  I  come  to  think  about  it. 
Why  there  be  that  Particular  Baptist  who  comes 
droppin'  in  *pon  a  Wednesday,  and  we  begin 
a  harguin'  about  Calvinism,  and  Wesley  and 
Fletcher,  and  I  do  a'most  always  get  hot  and 
angry  and  vexed  with  myself — I'll  aim  straight 
at  him  to-morrow,  that  I  will !  That  is  it,  my 
friends.  Think  what  you  do  want  beforehand, 
and  then  you  wont  go  a-wastin'  your  breath  in 
prayin'  for  what  you  don't  want. 

"  Then  there  be  another  prayin'  breath  that 
be  spent  in  vain.  When  we  go  a-prayUi  for 
what  we  dont  expect.  That  be  in  vain — and 
that'll  cover  a'most  the  other  half  of  our  prayers. 
^  Believin  ye  receive', — that  be  the  pith  and 
marrow  o'  prayer,  in  my  thinkin'.  But  we  pray, 
and  don't  ever  look  for  it  to  come  down ;  like  a 
man  takin'  aim  and  shooting,  but  never  goin'  in 
to  pick  up  what  he's  shot.  *  I  will  direct  my 
prayer  unto  Thee,  and  will  look  up.'  That  be 
the  way  David  prayed.  He  took  aim  and  ex. 
pected  to  see  the  blessings  come  down.  We 
dun't  expect  to  get  our  prayers  answered." 


^^Prayin  Breath  is  Never  Spent  in  Vain!'    89 

"  Like  as  if  he  didn't  mean  what  he  said  in 
all  the  precious  promises  :  bless  him  ! "  came 
fervently  from  dear  old  Frankey  in  the  corner. 

"  I've  often  thought  how  folks  would  stare, 
sometimes,  if  their  prayers  were  answered,"  said 
young  Cap'n  Joe. 

Dan'el  smiled,  as  if  some  slumbering  memory 
woke  up  suddenly  within  him.  He  nodded  the 
little  head,  and  the  merry  wrinkles  gathered 
round  the  corner  of  the  bright  eye,  and  the 
pursed-up  mouth. 

"They  would,  sure  'nough,  Cap'n  Joe.  I 
happened  once  to  be  stayin'  with  a  gentleman 
— a  long  way  from  here — a  very  religious  kind 
of  a  man  he  was  ;  and  in  the  mornin'  he  began 
the  day  with  a  long  family  prayer  that  we  might 
be  kep'  from  sin,  and  might  have  a  Christ-like 
spirit,  and  the  mind  that  was  also  in  Christ 
Jesus,  and  that  we  might  have  the  love  of  God 
shed  abroad  in  our  hearts  by  the  Holy  Ghost 
given  unto  us.  A  beautiful  prayer  it  was,  and 
thinks  I,  what  a  good  kind  of  a  man  you  must 
be.  But  about  an  hour  after  I  happened  to  be 
comin'  along  the  farm,  and  I  heard  him  holler- 
in'  and  scoldin'  and  goin'  on  findin'  fault  with 
every  body  and  every  thing.     And  when  I  came 


90  Daniel  Quorm. 

into  the  house  with  'e  he  began  again.  Noth- 
ing was  right,  and  he  was  so  impatient  and  so 
quick-tempered.  '  'Tis  very  provokin'  to  be  an- 
noyed in  this  way,  Dan'el.  I  don't  know  what 
servants  in  these  times  be  good  for  but  to  worry 
and  vex  one,  with  their  idle,  slovenly  ways.' 

"  I  didn't  say  nothing  for  a  minute  or  two. 
And  then  I  says,  '  You  must  be  very  much  dis- 
appointed, sir.' 

"  '  How  so,  Dan'el  ?     Disappointed  ? ' 

" '  I  thought  you  were  expecting  to  receive  a 
very  valuable  present  this  morning,  sir,  and  I 
see  it  hasn't  come.' 

"  *  Present,  Dan'el,' — and  he  scratched  his 
head,  as  much  as  to  say,  *  Whatever  can  the  man 
be  talkin'  about.' 

" '  I  certainly  heard  you  speakin'  of  it,  sir,'  I 
says,  quite  coolly. 

" '  Heard  me  speak  of  a  valuable  present ! 
Why,  Dan'el,  you  must  be  dreamin'.  I've  never 
thought  of  such  a  thing.' 

"*  Perhaps  not,  sir,  but  you've  talked  about 
it ;  and  I  hoped  it  would  come  while  I  was  here, 
for  I  should  dearly  like  to  see  it* 

"  He  was  gettin'  angry  with  m(<  rw>w,  sp  I 
thought  I  would  explain. 


"Prayin'  Breath  is  Never  Spent  in  Vain^   91 

"  *  You  know,  sir,  this  mornin'  you  prayed  for 
a  Christ- like  spirit,  and  the  mind  that  was  in 
Jesus,  and  the  love  of  God  shed  abroad  in  your 
heart. 

" '  O,  that's  what  you  mean,  is  it ! '  and  he 
spoke  as  if  that  weren't  any  thing  at  all. 

" '  Now,  sir,  wouldn't  you  be  rather  surprised 
if  your  prayer  was  to  be  answered  .-*  If  you 
were  to  feel  a  nice,  gentle,  lovin'  kind  of  a  spirit 
comin'  down  upon  you,  all  patient,  and  forgivin', 
and  kind  }  Why,  sir,  wouldn't  you  come  to  be 
quite  frightened  like;  and  you'd  come  in  and 
sit  down  all  in  a  faint,  and  reckon  as  you  must 
be  a  goin'  to  die,  because  you  felt  so  heavenly- 
minded  }  * 

"  He  didn't  like  it  very  much,"  said  Dan' el, 
"but  I  delivered  my  testimony,  and  learnt  a 
lesson  for  myself,  too.  You're  right,  Cap'n  Joe  ; 
you're  right.  We  should  stare  very  often  if  the 
Lord  was  to  answer  our  prayer.  That  sayin* 
wont  hold  water  any  more  than  any  o'  the  rest ; 
a  prayin'  breath  be  very  often  spent  in  vain." 


92  Daniel  Quorm. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  A    TALK   TO    THE    LAMBS." 

IT  must  not  be  thought  that  my  dear  ola 
friend  was  always  on  the  look-out  for 
these  religious  proverbs,  having  no  eyes  or  ears 
for  any  thing  else — like  a  cat  watching  for  the 
unsuspecting  mouse,  and  then  springing  upon 
it  to  tear  it  to  pieces.  True,  he  treated  these 
phrases  in  this  style,  and  with  a  manifest  rel- 
ish ;  but  many  an  evening  passed  without  any 
such  destruction  of  the  prey,  when  there  was 
just  as  much  homely  common-sense  and  helpful 
advice. 

To  the  young  and  to  the  old  there  was  a 
pecuUar  tenderness,  perhaps  especially  to  the 
old  folks.  "  Seems  to  me  that  the  two  dearest 
things  in  all  the  world  to  our  heavenly  Father 
be  a  little  child  and  an  old  saint,"  was  a  favorite 
saying  with  Dan'el — a  saying  to  which  dear  old 
Frankey  Vivian  usually  lesponded  in  a  look 
beaming  with  joy,  and  a  fervent  "  Bless  his  dear 
name  for  that ! " 


"  A   Talk  to  the  Lambsr  93 

The  previous  winter  had  brought  many  addi- 
tions to  Dan'el's  classes,  mostly  of  young  folks, 
whom   he  welcomed   very  heartily,   and   made 
them  feel  as  much  at  home  as  any  body  else. 
Dear  old  Granny  Tombs  herself  was  sometimes 
pulled  up  when  she  was  running  on  too  long, 
with  a  hint  that  she  must  leave   time  for  "a 
word  to  the  young  uns."     Widow  Pascoe  was 
sometimes  startled  by  the  question  if  she  had 
something  bright  to   give   them  to  encourage 
the  lambs,  a  question  which  seemed  to  give  her 
"  quite  a  turn  ; "  but  the  folded  hands  and  the 
tucked-down    mouth  regained    their   propriety, 
and  in  a  moment  she  recovered  her  self-posses- 
sion.    The  word  exactly  hits  it—self-possession 
was  Widow  Pascoe  s  ruin,  as  it  is  the  ruin  of 
thousands  of  us.     "  Possessed  of  the  devil  was 
a  misfortune  and  to  be  pitied,"  said  Dan'el  one 
day  as  we  talked  of  it,  "  but  possessed  of  our- 
selves is  a  curse  and  a  misery  that  bent  much 
above  it.      There  is  only  one  possession  that 
God's  people  should  know  any  thing  about,  and 
that  is  Christ  in  us  the  hope  of  glory." 

He  very  seldom  asked  these  younger  mem- 
bers to  speak.  "  God  lets  the  children  learn  to 
live  a  bit  and  to  walk  a  bit  by  themselves  be- 


94  Daniel  Quorm. 

fore  he  lets  'em  talk,"  was  his  explanatiori 
Hurrying  through  the  rest  of  the  class,  or  con- 
tenting himself  with  speaking  to  three  or  four 
of  the  members,  he  would  reserve  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  for  a  word  "  to  the  lambs." 

It  was  an  evening  in  May  when  the  setting 
sun  flung  in  its  ruddy  light  upon  the  happy 
company  at  Thomas  Toms'.  Stretching  the 
neck  you  could  look  over  the  musHn  blind  that 
cut  the  window  in  two,  and  catch  sight  of  Far- 
mer Gribble's  fields  beyond,  with  the  sheep  and 
lambs  luxuriating  in  the  rich  green  grass  and 
golden  buttercups.  The  scene  may  have  sug- 
gested the  talk  of  that  evening. 

"  Ah  !  young  folks,  you've  got  a  blessed  Sav- 
iour, you  have.  When  I  begin  to  think  about 
it  I  a'most  wish  that  I  could  go  back  and  be  a 
little  child  again.  Why  you  know  '  He  carries 
the  lambs  in  his  bosom.'  Wonderful,  but  true. 
Carries  them  !  It  doesn't  matter  much  what 
the  road  is  when  we  are  carried — highway 
or  byway,  field  path  or  muddy  lane,  it  be  all  as 
one  to  them  that  are  being  carried,  and  it  don't 
matter  much  how  weak  you  are,  or  how  foolish  ; 
you  can't  get  tired,  and  you  can't  miss  the  way 
when  you're  being  carried.      He — that's  your 


«  A   Talk  to  the  Lambs!*  95 

Saviour— carries    the  lambs— that's  you,  your 
very  self — ^in  his  bosom. 

"Now   think   about   yourselves   as  lambs— 
young  uns— who  don't  know  the  way,  an'  don't 
know  the  dangers,  and  go  a-friskin'  out  o'  the 
way  a'most  before  you  know  you're  in  it ;  lambs 
that  can't  keep  up  with  the  old  ones,  and  it 
ben't  natural  as  you  should  ;  lambs  so  easily 
frightened  that  you're  scared  when  the  shep- 
herd comes  to  count  you  and  see  that  you  are  all 
right,  and  yet  so  ignorant  that  you'll  go  rubbin' 
your  noses  against  the  butcher's  greasy  knee 
when  he  comes  to  buy  you.     And  so  the  devil 
comes  a-whisperin',  and  says  he,  'Pooh,  you're 
a-settin'  out  for  the  kingdom,  and  hopin'  to  get 
to  heaven.     You  can't  do  it,  a  little  silly  lamb 
like  you.      Wait;   there's   no   need   to   hurry. 
Wait  till  you  are  grown  up  a  steady-going  old 
sheep.      Why   there's    the   rest    o'   the  lambs 
a-friskin'   about    among    the    buttercups    and 
daisies  as  happy  as  the  day  is  long,  and  here 
you'll  be  goin'  to  class-meetin',  a-mopin'  about 
among  the  nettles,  and  trying  to  look  solemn 
and  to  cry  like  an  old  ewe  that  has  lost  her  lit- 
tle one,  and  to  be  so  proper  as  if  you're  much  too 
good  to  jump  about  and  enjoy  yourself.     You 


96  Daniel  Quorm. 

wait  till  you  be  grown  up.'  That's  how  he 
talks,  the  old  liar. 

" '  Then/  says  he,  *  there's  the  wolf  that's 
about,  and  he  may  have  you;  and  how  the 
folks  '11  talk  about  it — you  settin'  yourself  up 
for  a  member,  like  as  if  you'd  be  so  much  bet- 
ter than  every  body  else,  an'  the  wolf  gettin' 
you  after  all,  just  the  same  as  if  you'd  been  a  wild 
wanderin'  lamb  all  the  time.' 

"That's  how  he  talks.  I  do  hate  him  for 
comin*  so  to  you  young  ones.  If  he'd  come 
and  have  a  bout  with  an  old  soldier  like  me  it 
wouldn't  be  so  bad,  but  to  come  a-bullyin'  and 
a-frightenin'  you — it  is  such  a  bit  o'  ghastly  old 
cowardice  as  any  body  else  would  be  ashamed 
of.  But  theare,  it  be  like  him  all  over.  And 
he  comes  round  pratin'  again  :  *  It  be  a  hard 
road  to  go  up,  and  choke-full  o'  troubles  and 
trials.  And  the  devil  will  set  snares  an'  traps 
and  pitfalls  for  'e  ;  an'  there  be  gloomy  woods, 
an'  desert  places,  an'  swellin's  o'  Jordan,  and 
great  cities  wall'd  up  to  heaven,  and  ugly  great 
sons  of  Anak.'  Poor  little  lamb,  I  don't  won- 
der that  thee'rt  most  afeared  to  set  out.  But 
don't  listen  to  him.  Don't  take  one  bit  o'  no- 
tice o'  what  he  says.     See,  here  is  thy  tender 


"  A   Talk  to  the  Lambs^  97 

Shepherd  standin'  over  thee,  and  lookin'  down 
upon  thee  with  all  his  pitiful  love.  '  Poor  little 
lamb,'  he  saith,  'fear  not,  I  will  carry  thee  in 
my  bosom.'  And  he  puts  his  hand  in  under 
thee,  and  he  Hfts  thee  up  into  his  arms,  foi  he 
carries  the  lambs  in  his  bosom.  There's  pretty 
ridin'  for  thee  now,  little  one.  Bless  his  dear 
Name  !  What  now  of  moping  among  the  net- 
tles .?  What  now  of  the  wolf .?  I  see  him  go 
sneakin'  off  with  his  tail  between  liis  legs,  and 
his  eyes  glistenin'  green  with  sick  envy.  He 
can't  touch  thee  there,  in  thy  Saviour's  bosom. 
What  now  o'  desert  places,  and  gloomy  woods, 
and  mountains  o'  difficulty.  He  carries  the 
lambs.  '  Wait  till  thou  art  grown  up  ! '  Why 
that  would  be  to  lose  it  all.  Thou  art  so 
blest  because  thou  art  so  little;  thou  art  so 
safe  because  thou  art  so  weak.  He  carries  the 
lambs." 

"  Bless  thy  dear  Name,"  came  from  Frankey's 
corner,  where  the  shadows  of  evening  now  be- 
gan to  gather  thickly. 

"  But  that  be  not  all,  though  it  be  a  good 
deal,"  Dan'el  went  on  again.  "  He  carries  them 
in  his  bosom — in  his  bosom.  You  know  the  man 
who  had  a  hundred  sheep  and  lost  one  of  them, 


98  Daniel  Quorm. 

went  after  it — I  dare  say  with  his  dog  that 
scented  it  out,  and  found  it  in  the  ditch,  bram- 
ble-torn and  wasted,  and  that  barked  at  it,  and 
grabbed  at  its  wool,  and  drove  it  roughly  to  the 
shepherd.  And  the  shepherd  laid  it  on  his 
shoulders — on  his  shoulders.  When  an  old 
sheep  goes  astray — one  of  us  old  uns,  the  good 
Shepherd  has  his  watch-dog  to  fetch  us  back 
again.  He  sends  a  snappish  sorrow  to  bite  us, 
or  a  sharp-toothed  loss  to  shake  us  up  a  bit,  and 
to  drive  us  out  of  the  ditch  into  which  we  had 
wandered." 

Dan'el's  little  eye  shot  its  glances  across  to 
John  Trundle,  who  shook  his  head  as  much  as 
to  say,  "  That's  true."  Widow  Pascoe  sighed 
deeply. 

"And  serve  us  right,  too,"  Dan'el  went  on, 
*'  serve  us  right.  Old  sheep  like  we  are — what 
do  we  want  goin'  astray,  and  tumblin*  into 
ditches.  Serve  us  right.  We  ought  to  know 
better,  and  deserve  that  the  watch-dog  should 
give  us  a  bite  that'll  be  a  warnin'  to  us  for  all 
the  rest  of  our  days.  And  the  shepherd  lays 
the  runaway  on  his  shoulder.  It  wasn't  a  very 
comfortable  position,  held  on  by  the  legs,  with 
his  head  danglin'  down,  and  all  the  rest  of  the 


"A    Talk  to  the  Lambs!'  99 

sheep  comin'  round  him,  thinkin'  what  a  figure 
he  looked.  That  be  the  way  the  Lord  carries 
us  old  sheep  when  we  go  astray.  He  brings 
us  back  makin'  us  feel  uncomfortable,  and  very 
much  ashamed  of  ourselves.  But  the  lambs  he 
carries  ifi  his  bosom — i7i  his  bosom.  The  shoul- 
der is  not  for  them,  but  the  bosom.  There 
they  lie,  with  his  arms  folded  about  them — 
there,  where  his  kind  eye  can  keep  its  glance 
upon  them.  In  his  bosom — where  they  can 
feel  the  great,  full  heart  beatin*  in  its  love, 
where  he  can  hear  the  first  mutter  o'  their  fear, 
and  they  can  catch  the  gentlest  whisper  of  his 
lovin'  care.  He  carries  the  lambs  in  his  bosom. 
Keep  close  to  him — lie  down  in  his  arms,  an' 
you're  safe  enough. 

"Don't  go  thinkin'  about  yourself — you're 
weak,  of  course  you  are — you're  ignorant,  of 
course  you  are.  And  so  the  Shepherd  will 
take  all  the  more  care  of  you  for  that.  Don't 
let  that  scare  us,  or  let  it  scare  us  only  into  our 
Saviour's  arms.  I  was  down  under  the  cliffs 
the  other  day,  and  there  was  a  man  there  with 
his  two  boys  and  a  little  girl.  The  boys  were 
strong  lusty  fellows,  who  could  run  down  the 
steep  path,  and  leap  over  the  rocks  like  young 


loo  Daniel  Quorm. 

goats.  But  the  little  maid  was  lame.  And 
you  should  have  seen  that  father  helpin'  her 
because  she  was  lame.  How  carefully  he  led 
her  along,  an'  how  he  lifted  her  over  the  stones, 
and  how  gently  he  brought  her  on  step  by  step, 
till  at  last  he  fixed  her  a  seat  upon  a  rock,  and  she 
leaned  against  him.  Then  as  she  looked  out 
upon  the  blue  ocean,  and  on  the  cliffs,  an'  the 
white  gulls  wheelin'  up  above  her,  an'  the  ships 
far  out  at  sea — she  enjoyed  it  all  so  much  that 
tears  of  very  joy  came  into  the  father's  eyes. 
Ah,  bless  the  Lord,  that  be  just  like  him  !  The 
strong  lusty  ones  can  get  on  perhaps — though 
he  wont  let  them  out  of  his  sight.  But  the 
lame  and  the  weak,  and  the  little  ones,  how 
gently  he  leads  them,  how  he  takes  them  on  a 
step  at  a  time,  how  tenderly  he  lifts  them  over 
the  rough  places,  and  then  how  he  delights  to 
lead  us  to  some  cleft  in  the  rock,  and  there  to 
maTce  all  his  goodness  to  pass  before  us  ! " 

Dan'el  paused.  The  tenderness  and  touch- 
ing way  in  which  he  had  spoken  had  more  to 
do  with  it  perhaps  than  the  words  themselves, 
but  there  was  not  a  heart  there  that  had  not 
been  moved  to  tears.  And  the  general  feeling 
found  relief  in  dear  old  Frankey's  fervent  words 


"  A   Talk  to  the  Lambsr  loi 

"  Bless  his  dear  Name !  It  be  true,  my  dear 
leader,  every  word  of  it.  Bless  him  !  And  not 
only  for  the  lambs  of  the  flock.  I've  been  a- 
thinkin'  o'  them  words,  '  Even  to  your  old  age  I 
am  he  ;  and  even  to  hoar  hairs  will  I  carry  you.' " 

But  Dan'el  had  not  finished  his  talk,  and 
quietly  went  on  again. 

"  And  yet  mind,  you're  lambs.  Though  you 
be  in  the  dear  Lord's  bosom  you're  lambs — not 
old,  sober-sided  sheep  that  have  got  no  friskin' 
in  them.  God  made  the  lambs  to  leap  about, 
you  know.  And  you  are  his  lambs.  Don't 
think  that  it  is  a  sin  to  laugh  or  to  play,  or  to 
be  as  happy  and  as  merry  as  lambs  in  the  field. 
I  am  quite  sure  that  God's  people  are  very  often 
the  devil's  shepherds — without  knowin'  it  of 
course — and  do  a  deal  o'  harm  to  the  lambs  o' 
the  fold.  I  know  that  about  a  fortnight  after  I 
had  found  the  love  of  God  to  me  in  Christ  Je- 
sus, one  day  my  soul  was  full  o'  love  an'  joy  an' 
gratitude,  and  I  was  workin'  away  as  happy  as 
could  be,  when  the  devil  came  to  me  and  whis- 
pers, '  Dan'el,  if  you  go  on  like  this,  you'll  die 
and  go  to  heaven  like  such  good  people  always 
do,  and  then  what'll  come  to  your  mother,  and 
who'll  keep  the  place  over  her  head  ? ' 


102  Daniel  Quorm. 

"  I  was  foolish  enough  to  listen  to  him  for  a 
minute  or  two,  but  that  was  enough.  I  jumped 
up  from  my  work  and  rolled  my  apron  round 
my  waist,  and  I  ran  across  the  road.  There 
before  me  was  old  Farmer  Gribble's  gate — a 
five-barred  gate.  So  I  took  a  run  and  leaped 
over  that  half  a  dozen  times,  and  the  last  time 
I  tumbled  over  it  and  bruised  my  shin.  So  I 
came  back  limpin'  to  my  work  and  sat  down 
again.  '  Theare,'  I  said,  *  that'll  settle  that  any- 
how ;  who  ever  heard  of  any  body  dyin'  while 
they  could  jump  over  a  five-barred  gate  like 
that,  or  who  ever  went  to  heaven  while  he  could 
bruise  his  shin  in  that  style } ' 

"Well,  I  thought  that  was  a  pretty  way  o' 
jumpin'  out  o'  the  snare.  But  I  found  that  I'd 
only  jumped  out  o'  the  fryin'-pan  into  the  fire. 
For  the  next  day  I  went  to  class,  and  an  old 
man — he's  in  heaven  now — began  quite  solemn, 
and  -turnin'  a  look  upon  me  that  made  m.e  feel 
dreadfully  guilty,  '  How  some  folks  can  make  a 
profession  o'  religion,  an'  do  as  they  do,  be 
more  'an  I  can  understand,  goin'  and  jumpin* 
over  a  five-barred  gate,  like  as  if  'twas  the  whole 
ten  comman'ments  at  a  stride.  An'  not  once, 
nor  yet  twice,  but  agen  an'  agen,  till  last  of  all 


"A   Talk  to  the  Lambs!'  103 

the  judgments  o'  heaven  come  down  an'  a'most 
broke  his  leg  ! ' 

"  I  went  home  thinkin'  myself  a  dreadful  sin- 
ner, and  if  my  dear  mother  hadn't  had  so  much 
sense  I  should  have  given  up  in  despair,  and 
have  thought  that  there  was  no  chance  for  any 
body  so  wicked  as  I  was.  When  I  told  her 
about  it  she  smiled — ah  !  I  think  I  can  hear  her 
still  in  her  gentle,  quiet  way — '  I  am  glad  thee 
can  jump  so  well,  Dan'el,'  she  says;  'but  to- 
morrow go  and  jump  a  gate  where  the  old  man 
can't  see  thee,  for  we  must  not  offend  the  con- 
science of  a  weak  brother,  you  know — and  see 
that  thou  doesn't  bruise  thy  shin  so  badly  next 
time.' 

"  You're  lambs,  you  young  folks,  you're  lambs, 
and  don't  go  tryin'  to  be  old  sheep.  You're  lambs 
— only  lambs — though  he  does  carry  you  in  his 
bosom." 


104 


Daniel  Quorm. 


.      CHAPTER   XL 

••TRUSTJN'  HIM  WHERE  WE  CANNOT  TRACE  HIM.' 

HUS  Widow  Pas- 
coe  had  finished 
her  complaining 
and  doleful  state- 
ment. 

She  had  picked 
out  all  the  myste- 
ries and  perplex- 
ities of  her  lot. 
She  had  sighed, 
with  a  sigh  that 
spoke  volumes, 
over  a  list  of  her 
troubles  and  trials.  She  had  gone  through  a 
very  lengthy  and  dismal  catalogue  of  the  ills  of 
the  past  and  fears  of  the  future.  She  had  languid- 
ly shut  her  eyes,  as  if  by  way  of  adding  to  that 
darkness  which  was  to  her  the  emblem  of  true 
religion,  and  had  shaken  her  head  very  solemn- 
ly over  her  sad  forebodings.     As  to  love,  and 


"  Trustin   Him''  etc.  105 

joy,  and  deliverance,  she  bad  not  a  word  from 
beginning  to  end.  Of  Him  who  always  "  causeth 
us  to  triumph;"  through  whom  we  are  ''more 
than  conquerors,"  there  was  just  one  word  at  the 
last :  in  a  tone  of  despair  she  wound  up  by  say- 
ing, she  hoped  she  should  trust  him  where  she 
could  not  trace  him.  Then  her  mouth  returned 
to  its  sour  propriety,  drawn  down  at  the  corners 
and  tucked  in  under  the  folds  that  kept  it  in  its 
place. 

Poor  Dan'el !  More  than  once  he  had  rushed 
at  this  sentence,  and  hacked  and  hewed  it  till 
he  hoped  it  was  past  recovery ;  but  here  it  was, 
growing  luxuriant  as  ever  in  the  garden,  or 
rather  in  the  grave-yard  of  Widow  Pascoe's  soul. 
Again  Dan'el  gathered  his  strength  to  demolish 
it.  Yet  it  was  with  much  tenderness,  and  al- 
most sadness,  that  he  began — 

"  Trust  Him  where  }  Trust  him  where  you 
cannot  trace  him  !  Why,  of  course,  of  course  : 
you  know  you  can't  trust  him  anywhere  else. 
You  didn't  mean  any  harm,  I  know.  Folks 
mostly  never  do ;  but  they  do  it  for  all  that. 
One  way  not  to  do  any  harm  is  not  to  say  any 
harm.  If  we  thought  more  about  what  we  saidy 
we  shouldn't  do  so  much  harm  by  a  good  deal. 


io6  Daniel  Qqorm. 

"Trust  him  where  you  cannot  trace  hhn ! 
Why  he's  a  very  poor  creature  among  us  that 
you  can't  say  that  much  of.  If  you  haven't  got 
any  confidence  in  a  man,  you  can't  say  much 
worse  of  him  than  this — '  I'll  trust  him  as  far  as 
I  can  see.'  The  other  day  a  neighbor  of  mine 
was  a  bit  hard  up,  and  he  came  in  to  my  place 
and  told  me  of  it.  Well,  I  knew  that  he  was  a 
good  kind  of  a  man,  so  I  let  him  have  a  sover- 
eign. I  gave  him  the  money  and  away  he  went. 
Now  suppose  that  as  soon  as  he  had  turned  his 
back  I  began  to  think  about  my  money.  Come, 
I  say  to  myself,  I'll  trust  him  where  I  cannot 
trace  him  :  but  where  I  can  trace  him,  what 
should  I  trust  him  for.?  So  I  slip  cut  after 
him.  He  goes  down  the  road,  and  I  am  at  his 
heels :  he  turns  in  over  the  fields,  and  I  am 
after  him  :  he  goes  up  the  lane,  and  I  keep  my 
eye  upon  him  ;  and  then  he  turns  into  his  house, 
and  shuts  the  door.  So  I  sit  down  on  the  door- 
step, and  console  myself  with  the  saying,  'Well, 
I  can't  trace  him  any  further,  so  now  I  must 
trust  him.'  There  I  sit  for  hours  tricstin  him 
By  and  by  he  comes  out  and  finds  me  there. 

"  *  Why,  Dan'el,  what  are  you  d-doin'  of  here  ? 
says  he. 


"  Triistin    Hun'^  etc.  107 

" '  0/  says  I,  quite  coolly,  *  trustin'  thee,  neigh- 
bor, trustin'  thee  where  I  cannot  trace  thee.' 

"Now  wouldn't  he  get  very  angry,  and  cry 
out,  *  Is  that  what  you  call  trustin'  me !  a-fol- 
lowin'  me  about  in  that  fashion  ?  Here,  take 
the  sovereign  back  again.  I  can  starve,  but  I 
can't  be  doubted  and  suspected.' 

"  Why,  it's  about  as  bad  as  you  can  serve  any 
body,  only  to  trust  'em  because  you  cannot  trace 
them.  And  to  hope  for  grace  to  treat  our  lov- 
in'  Father  like  that !  You  didn't  mean  it,  I'm 
sure.  Bless  his  holy  Name  ;  it  hurts  me  some- 
how to  think  any  thing  like  that  about  my 
blessed  Father,  and  much  more  to  hear  people 
keep  sayin'  it. 

"  Trustin  him  wJiere  we  cannot  trace  him  ! 
Why,  it  be  a  poor  kind  o*  trust  that  only  trusts 
because  it's  blind,  and  not  because  it's  got  any 
faith  in  them  that  lead  it ;  to  go  on  wonderin' 
and  doubtin'  and  fearin',  a-reaching  out  the 
hand,  and  a-feelin'  with  the  foot,  as  if  them  that 
lead  haven't  a  bit  more  eyesight  than  the  blind 
man  himself.  When  I  was  a  little  lad  I  remem- 
ber once  I'd  gone  up  to  spend  the  day  with  my 
grandmother.  About  sunset,  when  I  ought  to 
be  goin'  home,  there  came  a  tremendous  thun- 


loS  Daniel  Quorm. 

derstorm,  and  the  rain  came  down  in  torrents. 
Of  course  I  couldn't  start  when  it  was  like  that, 
so  my  old  grandmother  said :  '  Dan'el,  my  lad, 
however  wilt  thee  get  home  ? '  And  just  as  she 
was  talkin',  in  came  my  father,  drippin'  wet. 
He  had  on  a  great,  long  blue  cloak,  like  they 
used  to  wear  in  those  times.  So  when  we 
started  to  come  away,  he  said,  *  Now,  Dan'el, 
come  in  under  here  ; '  and  he  put  me  inside  the 
long  cloak.  I  got  in  under  there,  and  took  hold 
of  his  hand,  and  away  we  went.  It  was  pitch 
dark  in  there,  o'  course,  and  outside  I  could 
hear  the  thunder  crashin*  about  among  the  hills, 
and  every  now  and  then  I  took  hold  of  his  hand 
tighter,  for  somehow  I  could  see  the  blaze  o' 
the  lightnin'  right  in  under  the  cloak.  I  went 
splashin'  on  through  the  puddles  and  the  mud, 
all  right  because  I'd  got  hold  of  his  hand.  Now 
shouldn't  I  have  been  a  little  stupid  if  I'd  kept 
a-sayin',  '  I  don't  know  where  I'm  goin'  to,  and 
I  can't  tell  where  I  am,  and  I  can't  see  the  way, 
and  it's  very  dark,  and  I  must  trust  my  father 
where  I  cannot  trace  him.' 

"  Why,  I  didn't  grumble  at  the  darkness  ;  it 
would  be  like  grumblin'  at  my  father's  cloak 
that  wrapped  me  from  the  storm.     I  knew  that 


"  Trustin   Him,''  etc.  109 

he  knew  the  way  right  enough.  He  looked 
out,  and  managed  to  see  the  road  somehow. 
And  at  last  we  stopped  at  our  door ;  and  they 
flung  back  the  cloak,  and  there  I  was  in  front 
o'  the  blazin'  fire,  with  mother  gettin'  us  all 
sorts  o'  dry  things,  and  the  supper  waitin',  and 
all  lookin'  such  a  welcome — like  only  a  lad's 
mother  can  give  him.  Of  course  he  led  me 
home :  where  else  should  he  led  me  to  ?  An' 
seemin'  to  me  that  be  just  the  way  it  ought  to 
be  with  our  heavenly  Father." 

"  Under  the  very  shadow  o'  his  wing,  dear 
leader.  He  do  love  to  cover  us  with  his  feath- 
ers, bless  him,"  said  old  Frankey  fervently. 

*'  Under  his  wing,  my  dear  Frankey.  And  in 
there  we  don't  mind  the  dark  a  bit.  It's  so  safe, 
an'  so  warm  ;  so  snug.  We  can  take  his  hand, 
and  then  go  'long  our  way  rejoicin'.  What  of 
a  few  splashy  puddles  under  foot,  and  a  bit  of 
a  storm  now  and  then  !  Why  we'll  only  take 
hold  of  his  hand  all  the  tighter.  Of  course  we 
don't  know  the  way,  and  don't  want  to,  either. 
Our  Father  looks  out  all  along  the  way,  and  he 
leads  us  right.  Aye,  and  by  and  by  we'll  get  to 
the  door,  an'  then  we'll  step  out  into  the  light 
and  be  safe  home,  leavin'  all  the  wild  storms 


no  Daniel  Quorm. 

and  darkness  outside  for  ever  and  ever ;  and 
what  more  can  any  body  want  than  that  ?  Goin* 
a-tracin'  him,  like  as  if  he  didn't  know ;  or  like 
as  if  we  weren't  quite  sure  that  he  was  takin'  us 
right.  Where  else  will  the  Father  lead  us  but 
to  the  Father's  house,  I  should  like  to  know  ? " 
"  Bless  his  dear  Name,"  cried  Frankey, 
"straight  home,  o'  course,  straight  home ;"  and 
the  fire-light  glistened  in  the  tears  of  joy,  and 
made  his  face  yet  more  radiant. 

"  Seemin'  to  me  that  trust — that  be  worth 
the  name  of  trust — don't  think  about  itself  one 
bit :  it  just  feels  so  safe  that  it  don't  think  of 
askin'  any  questions  about  it.  When  my  neigh- 
bor had  my  sovereign,  if  I  hadn't  trusted  him  I 
should  have  gone  thinkin*  about  it,  and  hopin* 
it  was  all  right ;  but  because  I  did  trust  him,  I 
sat  down  and  went  on  hammerin'  and  stitchin* 
as  if  he  had  never  come.  O,  dear  folks,  let  us 
give  ourselves  right  up  to  the  good  Lord  once 
for  all,  and  then  be  so  sure  of  his  love  an'  care 
that  we  go  singin'  on  all  day  long,  doin'  nothing 
else  but  lovin'  and  servin'  him  with  .all  our 
hearts !  If  we  trust  him  at  all  we  shall  trust 
him  so  much  that  we  shaVt  think  about  it 
enough  to  try  and  trace  him." 


"  Trusthi  Himl'  etc.  1 1 1 

So  Dan'el  had  finished.  But  the  topic  was  a 
favorite  one,  and  was  taken  up  again  and  again. 
Scarcely  a  member  but  had  some  incident  to  tell ; 
some  deliverance  wrought ;  some  joy  brightened 
by  trust  in  the  Lord.  And  when  it  came  to 
dear  old  Frankey's  turn,  his  pale,  worn  face  was 
lit  up  with  holy  joy  and  rapture. 

"You've  been  talkin    about   trustin    in   the 
Lord  where  we  cannot  trace  him.     Well,  bless 
his  dear  Name,  I  don't  know  any  thing  about 
tracin'  him,  and  I  never  thought  any  thing  about 
that.     But  I  do  love  to  think  about  trustin  him, 
and  I  do  know  something  about  that,  bless  him. 
I  be  a  poor  ignorant  scholar,  and  always  seem  to 
be  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  class  in  a  good 
many  things.     But,  bless  him,  I've  had  enough, 
I  reckon,  to  make  me  a'most  the  top  o'  the  class 
in  trustin'  him.     Ah,  dear  leader,  it  be  'zackly 
as  you  been  a  sayin'— i-^  safe  that  you  doiit  think 
'pon  it:   just  lyin'  down  in  his  arms,  without  a 
morsel  o'  care  or  frettin',  but  feeling  so  sure  that 
every  thing  be  as  right  as  it  can  be,  an'  never  a 
shadow  o'  fear  come  creepin'  up  between  his 
sunshine  and  me.     Why  if  heaven  be  any  bet- 
ter than  that,  then  heaven  must  be  a  wonderful 
place  sure  'nough.     It  come  to  my  mind  a  week 


112  Daniel  Quorm. 

or  two  ago,  so  full  an'  sweet  an'  precious,  that  I 
can  hardly  think  o'  any  thing  else.  It  was  dur- 
ing them  cold  north-east  winds  ;  they  had  made 
my  cough  very  bad,  and  I  was  shook  all  to  bits, 
and  felt  very  ill.  My  wife  was  sittin'  by  my 
side  ;  and  once  when  I'd  had  a  sharp  fit  of  it,  she 
put  down  her  work  and  looked  at  me  till  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  says  she,  *  Frankey, 
Frankey,  whatever  will  become  of  us  when  you 
be  gone  ! ' 

"  She  was  makin'  a  warm  petticoat  for  the  lit- 
tle maid  ;  so  after  a  minute  or  two  I  took  hold 
of  it,  and  I  says, '  What  are  'e  makin,'  my  dear  .? ' 

"  She  held  it  up  without  a  word ;  her  heart 
was  too  full  to  speak. 

"  '  For  the  little  maid  .'' '  I  says,  '  and  a  nice 
warm  thing,  too.  How  comfortable  it  will  keep 
her.     Does  she  know  about  it .? ' 

"  '  Know  about  it !  why  o'  course  not,'  said 
th^  wife,  wondering.  *  What  should  she  know 
about  it  for  } ' 

"  I  waited  another  minute,  and  then  I  said, 
*  What  a  wonderful  mother  you  must  be,  wifie, 
to  think  about  the  little  maid  like  that.' 

"  *  Wonderful,  Frankey  .?  Why  it  would  be 
more  like  wonderful  if  I   forgot  that  the  cold 


"  Trustifi  Him,''  etc.  1 1 3 

weather  was  a  comin',  and  that  the  little  maid 
would  be  a-wantin'  something  warm/ 

"  So  then,  you  see,  I  had  got  her,  my  friends," 
and  Frankey  smiled. 

"  '  O,  wifie,*  says  I, '  do  you  think  you  be  goin 
to  care  for  the  little  maid  like  that,  and  your 
Father  in  heaven  be  a-goin'  to  forget  you  alto- 
gether ?  Come  now,  bless  him,  isn't  he  as  much 
to  be  trusted  as  you  are  ?  And  do  you  think 
he'd  see  the  winter  comin'  up  sharp  and  cold, 
and  not  have  something  waitin'  for  you,  and  just 
what  you  want,  too  ?  And  I  know,  dear  wife, 
that  you  wouldn't  like  to  hear  the  little  maid  go 
a  frettin'  and  sayin,'  "  There,  the  cold  winter  be 
a-comin',  and  whatever  shall  I  do  if  my  mother 
should  forget  me."  Why  you'd  be  hurt  and 
grieved  that  she  should  doubt  you  like  that. 
She  knows  that  you  care  for  her,  and  what  more 
does  she  need  to  know — that's  enough  to  keep 
her  from  frettin'  about  any  thing.  "  Your  heaven- 
ly Father  knoweth  that  ye  have  need  of  all  these 
things."  That  be  put  down  in  his  book  for  you, 
wifie,  and  a-purpose  iox  you,  and  you  grieve  and 
hurt  him  when  you  go  a-frettin'  about  the  future 
and  doubtin'  his  love.' 

"  'Ah,  Frankey,  I  wish  I  had  your  faith,'  says 


114  Daniel  Quorm. 

she.     And  I  let  her  go  on  with  her  work,  hopin* 
she  would  think  it  over. 

"  When  the  little  maid  came  home  from  school 
that  afternoon  she  had  a  bit  of  a  sick  headache. 
She  went  frettin'  about  the  kitchen  whilst  her 
mother  was  gettin'  the  tea,  and  couldn't  rest 
quiet  for  a  minute  together.  But  when  the  wife 
sat  down,  the  little  maid  came  and  laid  herself 
in  her  mother's  arms,  and  put  her  head  on  her 
bosom  ;  and  her  mother  began  to  sing  a  quiet 
kind  o'  hymn  to  her.  Then  the  httle  maid  for- 
got her  frettin',  and  sank  down  all  snug  and  com- 
fortable, and  in  a  few  minutes  she  was  gone  off 
to  sleep.  '  Frankey,'  I  says  to  myself  as  I  looked 
at  it,  *  there's  a  lesson  for  thee.  Sometimes  the 
children  o'  the  heavenly  Father  get  all  fretful 
and  sickly,  and  they  go  here  and  there  and  can't 
find  a  comfortable  place  anywhere,  but  are  all 
nervous  and  fidgety.  Here's  what  thou  must 
do,.  Frankey.  Thou  must  come  and  lay  thyself 
down  in  the  everlastin'  Arms,  and  lean  thy  tired 
head  upon  the  bosom  of  thy  dear  Lord,  and 
draw  his  love  in  all  round  thee  ;  and  a'most  be- 
fore thou  know  it,  all  thy  fears  and  troubles 
shall  be  hushed  off  to  sleep,  and  thou'lt  hear 
nothing  but  a  quiet  kind  o'  singin'  in  thy  soul 


"  Trustin   Him,''  etc.  1 1 5 

tellin'  of  His  love.*  Ah,  it  be  more  than  true^ 
truer  than  any  words  can  tell  or  any  body  can 
think,  for — *  like  as  a  father '  (or  a  mother  either) 
*  pitieth  his  children,  so  the  Lord  pitieth  them 
that  fear  Him.' 

"  It  be  a  poor  thing  to  go  a  tracin'  him.  But 
it  be  a  blessed  thing,  sure  'nough,  to  put  your 
trust  in  him.  And  I  can't  understand  how  any 
body  can  help  a-doin'  of  it.  Why,  when  things 
have  come  to  the  worst,  and  I  do  know  what 
that  be — when  the  money  been  done,  and  the 
cupboard  been  empty,  and  I  haven't  seen  a  way 
out  of  my  trouble,  and  the  devil  has  come  a  tempt- 
in' — for  he  do  love  to  hit  a  man  when  he's  down 
— I've  gone  'pon  my  knees,  just  like  as  if  I  got 
down  under  the  cross  for  abit  o'  shelter  from 
the  storm.  An'  whichever  way  the  wind  blow, 
a  man  can  get  shelter  there.  Well,  let  me  lift 
my  eyes  to  Jesus,  and  see  him  there  for  me, 
with  the  crown  of  thorns,  an'  the  nails  in  his 
blessed  hands  and  feet,  and  very  soon  my  heart 
be  so  full  as  ever  it  can  hold.  '  Eh,  Frankey,'  I 
cry  out,  '  the  King  o'  glory  died  for  thee — died 
like  that.  One  drop  of  His  precious  blood  is 
more  than  all  worlds,  but  for  thee  his  heart 
emptied  itself.     He  gave  himself  for '^e' ''    The 


ii6  Daniel  Quorm. 

old  man's  voice  grew  hoarse  with  deep  emotion 
as  he  went  on  :  "  Why  I  kiss  those  bleeding 
feet,  and  every  bit  o'  life  and  strength  in  me 
cries  out,  '  My  dear  Lord,  I  can  starve,  I  can 
suffer,  I  can  die.  But  there  be  one  thing  I  can 
never  do  ;  never — never — never.  My  Lord,  / 
can  never  doubt  thy  love  !  " 

Frankey's  deep  feeling  filled  every  heart — as 
if  indeed  it  were  more  than  full,  the  feeling  of 
the  little  company  seemed  almost  naturally  to 
overflow  in  the  words  which  Dan'el  gave  out, 
**  Let  us  sing  a  verse  or  two,  and  we  will  go  on 
again. 

'  I  rest  beneath  the'  Almighty's  shade, 

My  griefs  expire,  my  troubles  cease  ; 

Thou,  Lord,  on  whom  my  soul  is  stay'd. 

Wilt  keep  me  still  in  perfect  peace. 

*  Me  for  thine  own  thou  lov'st  to  take, 

In  time  and  in  eternity  ; 
Thou  never,  never  wilt  forsake 

A  helpless  worm  that  trusts  in  thee.* 

"  The  Lord  bless  thee,  Frankey,"  cried  Dan'el. 
"  I'm  a' most  glad  that  you're  shut  up  as  you  are 
with  nothing  to  do  but  to  think  over  his  love, 
and  to  come  and  tell  us  about  it.  You've  done 
my  heart  good,  anyhow.     But  I've  had  my  say. 


**Trustm  Him"  etc,  117 

Come,  Cap'n  Joe,  thou  hast  been  thinkin'  over 
it  a  bit,  an'  we  must  have  a  word  from  thee." 

"Well,  friends,"  said  young  Cap'n  Joe  in  his 
brave,  outspoken  manner  and  with  his  ringing 
bass  voice,  like  some  sturdy  David  giving  testi- 
mony after  an  old  silver-haired  Samuel,  "  I've 
been  reminded  of  two  or  three  things  while  I've 
been  listenin'  to-night.  I've  been  thinkin'  how 
much  people  lose  by  trying  to  trace  the  Lord  in- 
stead of  trusting  him.  The  other  day  I  was  on 
the  other  side  of  Redburn,  and  I  overtook  a  man 
who  wanted  to  know  the  way.  I  told  him  I  was 
going  in  sight  of  the  place,  and  would  show  him 
the  nearest  path  to  it.  We  turned  off  the  high- 
road through  the  wood  and  over  the  downs. 
The  day  was  beautiful,  and  as  we  came  along 
under  the  trees  I  thought  I  had  never  seen  any 
thing  more  lovely — the  sun  coming  in  through 
the  leaves  here  and  there  on  the  branches  and 
trunks  of  the  trees,  and  lighting  up  the  flowers, 
and  the  birds  singing  all  about  us,  and  the  rab- 
bits kept  running  across  the  mossy  path.  But 
that  man  didn't  see  a  bit  of  it  ;  not  a  bit.  The 
path  went  winding  along,  and  he  kept  putting 
his  head  first  on  this  side  and  then  on  that  to 
see  it,  and  when  the  trees  seemed  to  block  it  in, 


ii8  Daniel  Quorm. 

he  stopped  and  said  quite  timidly,  "  I'm  afraid 
we're  wrong  ;  the  pathway  ends  here.'  I  laughed 
at  his  foolishness.  *  Why,  I've  been  along  here 
many  times,'  I  said.  *  You  needn't  be  dis- 
tressed.* But  he  was  as  nervous  as  ever.  Then 
we  left  the  wood  and  came  out  on  the  downs. 
And  when  we  came  to  the  top  I  stayed  to  look 
away  over  the  furze  and  the  old  granite  rocks  to 
the  sea.  *  There's  Saint  Michael's  Mount,'  I 
said,  pointing  away  in  the  distance.  *  Isn't  this 
a  fine  view } '  But  he  looked  about  quite  timid- 
ly and  said, '  I  hope  we  are  right.' 

"  So  I  thought  it  was  no  good  trying  to  inter- 
est him  in  the  scenery,  and  I  showed  him  the 
smoke  of  Redburn  just  down  under  us,  and  he 
thanked  me  and  went  away  down  the  valley.  I 
came  along  thinking  how  much  these  poor  timid 
souls  do  lose,  and  how  foolish  it  was  for  him  to 
be  so  afraid  when  I'd  been  over  the  path  scores 
of  "times.  And  I  said  to  myself,  'That's  the 
way  with  hundreds  of  folks  going  heavenward. 
They  forget  that  their  Lord  has  led  thousands 
of  pilgrims  to  the  Celestial  City,  and  they  come 
all  along  the  way  wondering  if  they're  right, 
and  when  they  stand  upon  the  Delectable 
Mountains,  and    have   the  stretch  of  beautiful 


"  Trustin  Him,''  etc.  119 

scenery  about  them,  they  are  timidly  fearing 
lest  they  should  have  lost  the  way.  I'm  sure 
that  it  is  a  poor  unhappy  kind  of  religion — this 
tracing  kind.  Frankey's  is  the  right  sort  — 
trust,  simple  trust,  that  feels  so  safe  that  it 
never  thinks  about  it.' 

"  It  might  cure  us  to  think  what  a  set  of  ig- 
norant creatures  we  are,  and  what  mistakes  we 
keep  making  when  we  think  we  can  trace  him 
— mistakes  that  I  reckon  will  be  almost  enough 
to  spoil  heaven  itself  when  we  wake  up  and 
find  out  how  we've  wronged  our  blessed  Father. 
There  was  Jacob,  he  tried  his  hand  at  tracing 
the  Lord,  and  a  mess  he  made  of  it,  making 
himself  and  every  body  else  miserable  for  half  a 
life-time ;  going  away  now  and  then  to  the 
secret  place  where  he  kept  the  coat  of  many 
colors ;  taking  it  out  all  stained  with  faded 
marks  of  blood  ;  going  over  the  story  again, 
shaking  his  head  and  saying  bitterly,  '  Doubtless 
some  evil  beast  hath  devoured  him.  I'll  go 
sorrowing  down  to  my  grave.'  And  the  old 
man  goes  in  and  out  refusing  to  be  comforted, 
tearing  the  wound  open  again  when  it  did  begin 
to  heal,  and  loving  to  have  it  festering.  And 
there  all  the  time  his  Father  in  heaven  was  pre- 


120  Daniel  Quorm. 

paring  to  feed  them  all,  and  keep  them  alive  in 
time  of  famine.  If  Jacob  was  like  me,  I  know 
he'd  feel  dreadfully  ashamed  of  himself  when 
he  got  down  to  the  land  of  Goshen  and  found 
his  son  there,  the  great  man  of  the  land,  and 
he  would  go  grieving  then  that  he  had  gone 
grumbling  before. 

"That  is  what  comes  of  tracing  the  Lord, 
and  it  must  always  be  so,  I  think,  for  we  see 
only  one  side  of  it — we  cant  see  the  Lord's  side. 
Here's  the  coat  we  wanted  to  wrap  Joseph  in — ■ 
right  before  our  eyes  ;  but  we  don't  see  the  fine 
linen  and  the  royal  robes  that  are  being  woven 
down  yonder  in  Egypt.  Here's  the  empty 
chair" — for  a  moment  Capt'n  Joe's  voice  fal- 
tered ;  the  grave  was  not  yet  green  in  which  he 
had  laid  his  bright- eyed  eldest  boy — "  Here's 
the  empty  chair,"  he  went  on,  "and  the  place 
where  he  used  to  sit,  but  we  can't  see  the  throne 
that  God  is  leading  him  up  to.  It  is  so  with  all 
that  God  takes  away.  Our  eyes  are  upon  our 
lost,  and  we  think  of  what  is  gone,  but  we  don't 
see  that  God  has  taken  them  away  only  to  en- 
rich them,  and  enrobe  them  with  majesty  and 
splendor,  and  one  day  to  give  them  back  to  us 
exalted  and  enriched  as  kings  and  priests.     We 


"  Trusiifi  Him!'  ^tc.  121 

can't  afford  to  go  tracing  the  Lord  ;  we  make 
such  bungh'ng  work  of  it. 

"And  talking  about  Jacob  brings  to  my  mind 
the  way  people  go  wondering  what  they'll  do  if 
all  kinds  of  troubles  come  upon  them — losses 
and  sorrows  and  death.  Jacob  had  lessons 
enough,  as  Frankey  says,  to  teach  him  the 
blessedness  of  trusting  the  Lord.  There  was 
Esau  coming  up  to  him  with  a  great  company 
of  armed  men.  He  was  dreadfully  frightened, 
for  the  fierce  hunter  had  been  cruelly  and  foully 
wronged,  and  now  he  would  surely  avenge  him- 
self. And  Jacob  began  to  trace  things.  He 
couldn't  have  seen  any  thing  else  than  this,  look 
as  long  as  he  would  ;  his  flocks  and  herds  seized, 
his  sons  carried  into  slavery,  and  himself  slain. 
And  at  last  here  they  were  right  before  him,  the 
hundreds  of  spearmen,  fierce  fellows  whose  eyes 
shone  at  the  sight  of  so  much  plunder.  And 
Jacob  came  up  bowing  and  trembling  and  say- 
ing, ^ My  lord'  and  ^ my  lord!  But  Esau  ran, 
generous  man  that  he  was,  and  fell  on  his 
brother's  neck  and  kissed  him,  and  wept  with 
veiy  joy,  and  pressed'him  to  come  and  dwell 
with  him  in  his  own  country.  Where  Jacob 
traced  destruction  he  found  loving  welcome  and 


122  Daniel  Quorm. 

blessing;  where  he  traced  loss  and  death,  he 
found  a  brother's  love  and  a  wonderful  deliver- 
ance. That's  the  way  with  us.  We  can  only- 
see  the  fierce  Esaus,  armed  and  angry,  that  are 
coming  to  slay  us.  But  the  Lord  can  touch  the 
heart  with  his  finger ;  and  turned  in  a  moment, 
it  is  all  love  and  peace  and  blessing.  We  can't 
afford  to  go  tracing  him  ;  we  can't  afford  to  do 
any  thing  else  but  trust  in  him. 

"Besides,  when  we  go  tracing  him,  there's 
one  thing  we  never  see,  and  that  makes  all  the 
difference  in  the  world :  we  never  see  the  special 
grace  that  our  good  Lord  will  give  for  special 
seasons.  Seems  to  me  that  these  people  that 
are  always  wondering  what  they'll  do  if  such 
and  such  things  happen,  want  to  have  the  grace 
now  for  all  their  life-time.  The  children  of  this 
world  are  wiser  than  the  children  of  light,  in 
this,  too,  as  in  a  good  many  other  things." 

"  Aye ;  that  be  true,  interrupted  Dan'el  some- 
what fiercely,  with  a  look  as  if  the  little  eye  had 
shot  out  a  lightning  flash,  and  this  was  the  at- 
tendant thunder.  "  Men  never  are  such  fools 
anywhere  as  they  be  in  religion." 

Cap'n  Joe  continued,  "  For  folks  to  keep  on 
wondering  what  they'll  do  in  the  future  is  just 


"  Tnistin  Him;'  etc.  123 

as  if  you  were  to  meet  a  man  going  to  work 
with  a  sack  of  flour  on  his  back,  and  a  stone  * 
of    meat,    and     a    bundle    of    clothes.      'You 
know,'   he   says,   'I    shall   be  hungry  in  three 
months'  time,  and  I  shall  want  food  and  clothes 
then,  so  I  carry  it  all  with  me.'     Now  nobody 
was  ever  mazed  enough  to  do  that.     The  man 
just  takes  his  day's  dinner  with  him,  and  goes 
to  his  day's  work  ;  and  he  believes  that  where 
to-day's  meal  came  from,  to-morrow's  will,  too. 
And  that  is  what  we  want.     The  Lord  gives  us 
one  day's  grace  for  one  day's  need ;  and  to-mor- 
row's supply  will  come  out  of  the  same  fullness, 
and  what  more  can  any  body  want ! " 
Dan'el  finished  the  talk  of  the  evening. 
''  Well,  friends,  'tis  a  pity  that  the  time  be 
gone  ;  but  I  must  tell  'e  a  little  story  I  heard 
the  other  day.     Cap'n   Joe   been  talkin'  about 
temptations.     Why,  however  we  can  Usten  to 
the  devil  when  he  do  come  round  temptin'  of 
us  to  doubt  our  Father's  love  and  care,  is  won- 
derful.     It   be   such   impudence — such   down- 
right, brazen-faced  impudence." 

"Just  like  him  though,  my  dear  leader,"  put 
in  Frankey. 

*  Au  English  weight  of  fourteen  pounds. 


124  Daniel  Quorm 

"  But  I  was  goin  to  tell  the  story  that  I  heard 
from  dear  old  Billy  Bray.  He  was  preachin 
about  temptations,  and  this  is  what  he  said  : — 

"  Friends,  last  week  I  was  a-diggin'  up  my 
*taturs.  It  was  a  poor  yield,  sure  'nough  ;  there 
was  hardly  a  sound  one  in  the  lot.  An'  while  I 
was  a-diggin'  the  devil  come  to  me,  and  he  says, 
*  Billy,  do  you  think  your  Father  do  love  you  t ' 

"  *  I  should  reckon  he  do,'  I  says. 

"'Well,  I  don't',  says  the  old  tempter  in  a 
minute.  If  I'd  thought  about  it  I  shouldn't  ha' 
listened  to  him,  for  his  'pinions  ben't  worth  the 
leastest  bit  o'  notice.  *I  don't,'  says  he,  'and  I 
tell  'ee  what  for :  if  your  Father  loved  you, 
Billy  Bray,  he'd  give  you  a  pretty  yield  o' 
'taturs  ;  so  much  as  ever  you  do  want,  and  ever 
so  many  of  *em,  and  every  one  of  *em  as  big  as 
your  fist.  For  it  ben't  no  trouble  for  your 
Father  to  do  any  thing;  and  he  could  just  as 
easy  give  you  plenty  as  not.  An'  if  he  loved 
you  he  would,  too.' 

"  Of  course  I  wasn't  goin'  to  let  him  talk  o* 
my  Father  like  that,  so  I  turned  round  'pon 
him  :  *  Pray,  sir,'  says  I,  '  who  may  you  happen 
to  be,  comin'  to  me  a-talkin'  like  this  here  ?  If 
I  ben't  mistaken.     I  know  you,  sir,  and  I  know 


"  Trustifi  Him,''  etc.  125 

my  Father,  too.  And  to  think  o'  your  comin' 
a-sayin'  he  don't  love  me  !  Why  I've  got  your 
written  character  home  to  my  house,  and  it  do 
say,  sir,  that  you  be  a  liar  from  the  beginnin*. 
An'  I'm  sorry  to  add  that  I  used  to  have  a  per- 
sonal acquaintance  with  you  some  years  since, 
and  I  served  you.  faithful  as  ever  any  poor 
wretch  could  ;  and  all  you  gave  me  was  nothing 
but  rags  to  my  back,  and  a  wretched  home,  and 
an  achin'  head — an'  no  taturs — and  the  fear  o* 
hell-fire  to  finish  up  with.  And  here's  my  dear 
Father  in  heaven.  I've  been  a  poor  servant  of 
his,  off  and  on,  for  thirty  years.  And  he's 
given  me  a  clean  heart,  and  a  soul  full  o'  joy, 
and  a  lovely  suit  o'  white  as  '11  never  wear  out ; 
and  he  says  that  he  will  make  a  king  of  me  be- 
fore he  've  done,  and  that  he'll  take  me  home  to 
his  palace  to  reign  with  him  for  ever  and  ever. 
And  xvQ>\N  yoii  come  up  here  a-talkin'  like  that* 

"  Bless  'e  my  dear  friends,  he  went  off  in  a 
minute,  like  as  if  he'd  been  shot — I  do  wish  he 
had — and  he  never  had  the  manners  to  say 
good  mornin*." 

A  hearty  laugh  followed  Dan'el's  story.  Even 
Widow  Pascoe  had  to  twitch  her  mouth  into  its 
propriety. 


126 


Daniel  Quorm. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


DAN'EL'S    NOTION    OF   A   CLASS-MEETING. 


HAD  dropped 
in  to  see  Dan'el 
one  evening  be- 
fore the  service. 
The  days  were 
"  drawing  in, " 
for  it  was  in  the 
late  autumn ;  so 
the  good  leader 
looked  up  from 
his  work  with  a 
smile  of  kind- 
ly greeting.  He 
lifted  the  broad- 
rimmed  spectacles  on  to  his  forehead,  and  laid 
down  his  work  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  could 
not  do  much  more,  and  would  enjoy  half-an- 
hour's  chat  with  a  pleasant  consciousness  that 
he  was  not  wasting  his  time. 

It  happened  that  just  then  local  circumstances 


Daniel's  Notion  of  a  Class-meeting.     127 

had  directed  attention  to  the  class-meeting.  A 
correspondence  in  the  papers  was  the  talk  of 
the  uneventful  month,  rather  because  there  was 
nothing  else  to  talk  of  than  because  of  any 
anxiety  that  was  felt  on  the  matter.  It  afforded 
a  ready  topic ;  so  giving  my  old  friend  plenty 
of  line,  and  encouraging  him  by  a  question  here 
and  there — with  which  I  need  not  break  the 
narrative  now — I  managed  to  get  some  notions 
that  have  not  lost  their  value  to-day. 

"  Class-meetin's  be  like  awls  and  needles — 
they'll  go  as  long  as  ever  you  can  keep  'em 
bright ;  but  when  they  get  dull  they'll  rust,  and 
then  it  be  hard  work.  There  was  my  old  leader 
that  I  used  to  meet  with,  he  was  enough  to  kill 
any  class-meetin'. 

"  I  was  a  young  lad,  so  full  o'  joy  as  ever  I 
could  live,  and  my  heart  singin'  to  God  all  day 
long.  And  then  I  used  to  go  up  to  class,  and 
it  took  all  the  music  out  o'  me,  like  Granny's 
finery  over  the  canary,  and  I  couldn't  do  more 
than  squeak  a  bit  instead  of  singing  at  all. 
Why  first  of  all  he'd  give  out  a  hymn— one  o' 
them  for  *  mourners ' — like  this  : — 

'  Woe  is  me  !  what  tongue  can  tell 
My  sad,  afflicted  state  ! 


128  Daniel  Quorm. 

Who  my  anguish  can  reveal, 
Or  all  my  woes  relate  ! ' 

And  then  they'd  sing  it  to  '  Josiah/  so  slow  as 
if  they  was  to  berrin'.*  Or  else  it  used  to  be 
that  hymn — 

*  Ah !  whither  should  I  go, 

Burden'd,  and  sick,  and  faint ; 
To  whom  should  I  my  troubles  show, 
And  pour  out  my  complaint ! ' 

Then  he  had  what  he  called  a  bit  o'  prayer. 
But  there  wasn't  a  bit  o'  prayer  in  it  from  be- 
ginnin'  to  end.  It  was  all  a  groan  about  how 
bad  we  were,  and  what  miserable  sinners  we 
were.  He  never  thanked  God  for  any  thing  at 
all  but  this — that  he  had  not  swept  us  away 
with  the  *  besom  o'  destruction.' 

"  And  then  he  used  to  speak — it  was  all  dis- 
mal an'  mournin'  about  this  'howlin'  wilder- 
ness'— till  I  couldn't  stand  it  any  longer.  I 
tried  at  first  to  feel  so  dull,  and  to  speak  so 
melancholy,  as  he  did.  But  it  was  no  good  my 
tryin' — not  a  bit.  The  Lord  had  put  a  new 
song  into  my  mouth,  and  I  couldn't  help  singin' 
it.     So  I  thought  I  might  as  well  speak  out  my 

*  A  funeral — at  which  hymns  are  frequently  ^ung  m  Com' 
wall. 


DaneVs  Notion  of  a  Class-meeting.     129 

mind  about  it,  for  all  I  was  only  a  young  lad.  I 
can  remember  it  quite  well.  'Twas  in  the  spring- 
time, and  I'd  been  rejoicin'  in  all  the  beauty  o* 
the  world  as  I  came  along. 

"'Well,  my  young  brother,  and  how  be  you 
a-gettin'  on  ? '  he  says,  in  his  slow  way. 

"  So  I  said,  '  My  dear  leader,  I  don't  know 
how  it  is,  but  I  can't  feel  like  you  do,  for  the  life 
o'  me  I  can't.     I  don't  feel  any  more  like  you  do 
than  the  day  do  feel  like  the  night.     Seemin'  to 
me  I  must  sing  because  my  heart  be  so  full. 
'Tis  like  the  spring  down  in  the  valley  that  be 
so  full  it  must  flow  over.     And  if  the  Lord  had 
made  my  heart  to    rejoice,    I   don't  believe   I 
ought  to  try  and  make  myself  feel  any  other. 
I've  been  and  washed  my  robes  and  made  'em 
white  in  the  blood  o'  the  Lamb,  and  now  I  don't 
like  to  think  that  they  are  not  white ;  it  seem 
to  me  like  insultin'  my  dear  Lord  for  to  go  call- 
in'  'em  filthy  rags.     If  my  Lord  had  wrapt  me 
up  in  the  weddin'  garment— and  bless  his  dear 
Name  he  have !— it  ben't   right,  and  it  ben't 
grateful,  and  it  ben't  true  for  me  to  go  calUn 
'em  sackcloth  and  ashes.     An'  if  I  be  drest  for 
a  weddin'— specially  for  the  marriage  supper  o' 
the  Lamb — I  don't  want  to  feel  like  as  if  I  was 


130  Daniel  Quorm. 

a-goin*  to  a  berrin'.     I  may  be  wrong,  but  I  do 
think  that  the  world  be  a  brave  deal  more  like 
God's  world  when  the  flowers  be  out,  and  the 
May  be  'pon  the  hedges, ,  an'  the  trees  be  all 
green  and  beautiful,  an'  the  birds  be  a-singin' 
every-where,  than  when  it  be  all  dead  and  shiv- 
erin'  with  the  cold,  an*  the  trees  all  stript  naked, 
and  liftin'  up  their  arms  to  heaven,  like  as  if 
they   were  askin'  for  pity.      "  Howlin'   wilder- 
ness "  it  may  be,  till  the  blessed  Lord  come  to 
us  ;  then  the  wilderness  do  begin  to  bud  and 
blossom  as  the  rose,  and  rejoice  with  joy  an' 
singin'.     And  it  says  that  "  the  ransomed  o'  the 
Lord  shall  return,  and  come  to  Zion  with  songs 
and  everlastin'  joy  'pon  their  heads  :  they  shall 
obtain  joy  and  gladness,  and  sorrow  an'  sighin' 
shall   flee    away."      Bless    the    Lord,    my  dear 
leader,  I  be  his  child !     He  has  ransomed  me, 
and  now  I  can't  help  it — and  I  don't   want  to, 
neither — my  heart  be   singin'  all  day  long.     I 
joy  in  him  by  whom  I  have  now  received  the 
atonement.     Why,   I  be  a  child  of  God,  dear 
leader,  an'  I  can't  help  walkin'  about  so.  happy 
as  a  king ;  for  it  be  my  Father's  world,  and 
there  ben't  a  thing  in  it  anywhere  but  is  work- 
in'   together   for   my  good.      Bless    the    Lord, 


Dan' el's  Notion  of  a  Class-meeting.     131 

that's  how  I  be  gettin  along:  it  may  be  right, 
or  it  may  be  wrong,  but  that's  'zactly  how  it  be/ 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  say  so  much,  but  I  felt  it, 
and  when  once  I  open  my  mouth  it  be  hard 
work  to  shut  it  again  till  it  be  all  said.  The 
old  leader  didn't  like  it.  He  turned  quite  red 
and  gave  me  a  sly  rap  or  two.  But  he  wasn't  a 
bad  sort  of  a  man,  only  a  bit  hasty  in  his  tem- 
per for  all  he  had  so  little  fire  in  his  bones. 
Before  the  week  was  over  he  went  to  the  min- 
ister and  told  him  that  though  I  was  so  young 
he  thought  I  might  have  a  class-book  and  get 
some  members,  for  he  was  gettin'  old,  and 
couldn't  do  as  he  used  to,  and  we  two  were  all 
right  after  that.  Nobody  rejoiced  more  when  I 
began  to  pick  up  a  few  members  than  he  did. 

"But  talk  about  class-meetin's,  and  people 
not  comin'  to  'em  ;  why  the  reason  is  pretty 
much  the  same  as  I  was  a-tellin'  Bob  Byles' 
wife  the  other  day,  that  it  wasn't  all  his  fault 
that  he  was  at  home  so  little,  and  at  the  public- 
house  so  often.  If  she  kept  a  bright  fire-place, 
and  a  snug  corner,  and  a  pleasant  smile  for  him 
at  home,  he  would  be  tempted  oftener  to  stay  at 
home.  We  leaders  must  keep  the  place  bright 
and  cheerful  and  attractive  if  we  want  to  keep 


132  Daniel  Quorm. 

the  members.  Why,  I  should  every  bit  as 
soon  think  o'  goin*  to  class  with  the  wax  an*  the 
grease  on  my  hands,  as  soon  think  o*  goin*  with 
my  apron  on  and  in  my  shirt  sleeves,  as  think 
o'  takin*  all  my  cares  and  worries.  I  get  away 
first  of  all  and  lose  all  my  own  fears  and  troub- 
les in  the  lovin'  care  of  my  heavenly  Father. 
I  get  my  own  heart  put  into  tune,  and  then  the 
rest  '11  take  the  right  pitch  from  me.  And  then 
with  the  fire  burnin'  I  get  away  to  meetin*.  We 
always  begin  with  a  good,  cheerful  hymn — one 
o'  them  that  do  stir  up  your  soul,  and  a  good 
old  tune  that  you  can  sing  without  thinkin* 
about  it,  because  you  do  know  it  so  well.  Give 
me  a  *  trumpet  meter '  to  *  Arise,  my  soul,  arise  !  * 
or  dear  old  *  Jerusalem,'  to  the  hymn — 

*  My  God,  the  spring  of  all  my  joys. 

The  life  of  my  delights  ; 
The  glory  of  my  brightest  days, 

And  comfort  of  my  nights  ! ' 

"  Bless  'e,  why,  by  the  time  you're  gone  through 
that,  and  had  a  bit  o'  downright  earnest  prayer, 
the  fire  is  burnin'  in  every  heart,  and  you're  all 
aglow  with  holy  joy.  No  fear  o  freezing  the 
tender  lambs  to  death  then  :  more  likely  to 
warm  the  old  ones  up  to  shoutin'  pitch.     When 


Dan'eVs  Notion  of  a  Class-meeting.     133 

I  hear  some  folks  talk  about  the  class-meetin's 
as  they  do,  I  wonder  whatever  the  leaders  can 
have  been  about  for  to  let  'em  get  such  notions 
as  they  have  got.  I  know  faults  are  thick 
when  the  love  is  thin ;  and  standin'  water  '11 
breed  plenty  o'  nasty  things  without  any  body 
goin'  nigh  it.  The  old  mill-wheel  '11  creak  and 
grumble  when  the  river  be  low.  But  you  can't 
wonder  that  folks  don't  like  class-meetin's  if 
there  be  nothing  for  'em  when  they  do  come : 
neither  meat,  nor  drink,  nor  fire,  nor  a  nice, 
hearty  welcome. 

"I  was  down  to  the  infirmary  ihe  other  day, 
and  while  I  was  waitin'  there,  they  were  all 
a-tellin'  o'  their  ailin's  and  failin's.  One  had  a 
cough,  and  another  had  a  pain  here  and  a  weak- 
ness there,  and  another  had  a  crushed  hand,  and 
another  a  bad  eye.  Now,  it  didn't  do  'em  much 
good  for  to  tell  each  other  how  bad  they  were. 
But  directly  the  doctor  came  out.  He  never 
said  a  word  about  his  own  ailin's  and  failin's. 
But  he  looks  in  a  cheerful  kind  o'  way,  and 
cheers  up  one,  and  has  a  pleasant  word  for  an- 
other, and  begins  to  examine  another  to  see 
what  be  amiss  with  him,  and  tells  him  very 
serious  that  he  must  take  care.     And  he  writes 


134  Daniel  Quorm. 

down  the  medicines  they  want,  an*  tells  'em  all 
to  come  next  week. 

"  Now  that  be  just  what  a  leader  ought  to  be 
— a  kind  o'  doctor  that  can  give  each  one  the 
prescription  he  needs— the  blessed  promise  that 
suits  his  case  ;  that  can  deal  out  the  Lord's  med- 
icines, and  can  make  up  a  strengthenin'  plaster 
for  them  as  is  weak  in  the  back  and  can't  stand 
very  well,  and  can  clap  up  a  stiff  blister  to  them 
as  have  caught  the  fever  o'  worldliness,  and  can 
make  a  pill  for  sluggish  livers — I  do  find  that 
be  the  commonest  kind  of  ailin*.  That's  what 
a  leader  ought  to  be — a  doctor  who  knows  how 
to  deal  out  the  Lord's  blessed  cure-all,  and  can 
tell  wounded  consciences  how  to  get  whole,  and 
them  as  is  hard  o'  hearin'  how  they  may  hear 
the  gentlest  whisper  o'  that  still  small  Voice, 
and  can  help  dim  eyes  to  get  a  clear,  strong 
vision  that  can  look  on  the  glorious  sun  all  day 
lo-ng ;  yes,  and  can  see  the  Sun  o'  Righteous- 
ness in  the  middle  o'  the  darkest  night. 

"But  theare,  nobody  feels  less  fitted  for  it 
than  I  do  ;  but  I  can  see  what  it  ought  to  be  :  I 
can  see  that  much.  And  if  every  body  saw 
that,  perhaps  they  would  come  a  little  bit  nearer 
to  doin'  it  and  bein'  it.     A  dinner  o'  herbs  be 


Dan'eVs  Notion  of  a  Class-meethig.     135 

better  than  some  things ;  but  the  man  who 
hasn't  got  any  thing  else  for  the  guests  wont 
have  much  company,  whatever  name  he  may 
call  it  by.  We  shan't  get  folks  very  often  to 
come  into  a  desert  place  and  rest  awhile,  if  we, 
like  the  disciples,  forget  to  take  bread.  If  we 
want  the  folks  to  come  we  must  have  it  now  as 
it  was  then,  and  as  it  always  will  be  when  the 
blessed  Master  be  with  us :  *  They  did  all  eat, 
and  were  filled.'  ^//—nobody  was  forgotten. 
It  was  a  big  class-meetin*  that,  but  every  body 
got  a  bit :  not  an  old  woman  was  shut  out  by 
the  crowd ;  not  a  hungfy  child  was  passed  by 
because  it  was  afraid  to  ask ;  not  a  little  maid 
but  got  a  bit.  That  be  just  what  I  do  want  my 
class-meetin'  to  be ;  a  bit  for  all  round,  old  and 
young,  weak  an'  strong.  A  bit  for  every  body. 
And,  bless  the  Lord !  more  than  a  bit  too. 
*  They  did  all  eat ;'  but  that's  only  half  of  it, 
only  the  beginnin* — *  They  did  all  eat  and  were 
filled — FILLED  !  Ah  !  that's  just  like  him — 
filled.  He  don't  give  us  a  taste  and  leave  us 
hungerin'  for  more.  He  '  satisfieth  thy  mouth 
with  good  things'  '  They  did  all  eat,  and  were 
filled!  Now  that's  a  class-meetin'  'zactly  to  my 
mind.     And  if  we'll  take  the  trouble  to  bake 


136  Daniel  Quorm. 

our  bit  o'  bread,  and  catch  our  fishes,  never  mind 
though  they  be  nothing  but  little  sprats — a  few 
small  fishes — and  if  we'll  put  'em  into  our  blessed 
Lord's  hands,  it'll  be  over  again  just  what  it  was 
then — they  shall  all  eat  and  be  filled.  And 
then  they'll  come  again.  Sure  enough,  they'll 
come  again." 


Searching  the  Scriptures. 


137 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

DAN'EL'S    NOTIONS   ABOUT   SEARCHING   THE 
SCRIPTURES. 

HIS    was    a   great    point 
with    Dan'el.       To    the 
younger     members    the 
question    was    put    very   often, 
"  Now,  do  'e  stick  to  the  Script- 
ures ?     You  wont  do  any  thing 
without  that  ;  and  if  you  mind  that, 
you  will  not  get  far  wrong."     When- 
ever a  time  of  religious  awakening 
brought  a  number  of  young  people 
to  the  class,  an  evening  was  sure  to  be  devoted 
to    this    subject.      Our   chapter   has    grouped 
together    many    of   Dan'el's    sayings    on    this 
subject,  rather  than  given  the  talk  of  any  one 
meeting. 

"We  sha'n't  get  on  without  it,  friends,  not  a 
bit,  and  the  prayer  we  need  to  put  up,  every  one 
of  us,  is  this  :  Lord,  teach  tis  to  read.  Why  the 
word  is  every  thing.     And  yet,  seems  to  me. 


138  Daniel  Quorm. 

there's  scores  of  folks  who  count  themselves  re- 
lio^ious  and  yet  they  haven't  a  morsel  o'  con- 
science about  this.  To  go  without  their  bit  o' 
prayer  would  make  'em  uneasy  and  fidgety  all 
day  long  :  they'd  expect  that  something  or  other 
would  go  wrong.  But  as  to  searchin'  the  Script- 
ures— why  you'll  see  them  take  the  Book  'pon  a 
Sunday  afternoon,  and  turn  it  over  very  solemn 
and  very  serious,  and  presently  they  begin  to 
nod  their  heads,  and  soon  they're  snorin'  over 
the  page.  Good  old  John  Bunyan,  I'll  warrant, 
had  some  of  his  neighbors  in  mind — he  might 
have  had  some  of  mine — when  he  made  Chris- 
tian go  to  sleep  whilst  he  was  readin'  the  roll. 
Then  they  wake  up,  and  count  that  that's  enough 
to  last  for  a  week  ? 

"  No  wonder  so  many  go  about  cryin',  *  My 
leanness,  my  leanness,'  and  are  so  weak  that  you 
can  knock  'em  down  with  a  feather  or  trip  'em 
up  with  a  straw.  And  a  plague  they  are,  too. 
Talk  about  endurin'  hardness  as  good  soldiers  ! 
Why  if  poor  Brother  Feeble-mind  only  gets  a 
cap  snapt  at  him,  he  flings  up  his  work  and 
goes  grumblin'  and  mumblin'  about  it  all  the 
rest  of  his  days  ;  and  if  you  happen  to  step 
on   Sister  Ready-to-halt's  toe  she'll  limp  for  a 


Sean  J  ling  the  Scriptures.  139 

year.  For  at  best  we  are  babes  ;  but  without 
searching  the  Scriptures  we  are  babes  without 
any  milk — poor  little  frettin',  pulin',  wasted 
things. 

"  St.  John  says, '  I  write  unto  you,  young  men, 
because  ye  are  strong,  and  the  word  of  God 
abideth  in  you.'  Tis  the  man  that  '  meditates  ' 
in  the  law  of  the  Lord,  that  comes  to  be  like  a 
tree  planted ;  you  know  'em  in  a  minute — fixed, 
steady,  immovable  kind  o'  folks,  who  don't  mind 
a  bit  of  a  storm,  and  hold  on  though  it  blows 
great  guns,  as  they  say.  But  religious  people 
who  don't  meditate  in  the  law  of  the  Lord  are 
commonly  like  the  chaff —  without  any  root, 
whirled  about  by  their  own  feehn  s  ;  now  whirled 
up  into  the  third  heaven,  wonderful  high  up, 
a'most  out  o'  sight ;  and  now  down  again  in  the 
mud,  trampled  under  foot.  They  meant  well 
enough,  but  they  didn't  get  hold  o'  the  word  and 
stick  to  it,  and  so  they  had  nothing  to  hold  by, 
and  it  was  all  up  and  down  with  'em,  and  in  an' 
out,  and  in  the  end  just  nothing  at  all. 

"There's  hundreds  o'  young  converts  start 
fair  enough,  but  they  founder  a'most  before 
they're  out  o'  the  harbor,  because  they  don't 
study  the  sailin'  orders,  and  stick  to  the  com- 


140  Daniel  Quorm. 

pass.  They  don't  'bide  by  the  word.  The 
blessed  Master  says  in  the  New  Testament  just 
the  same  as  David  says  in  the  Old.  Buildin' 
on  his  sayings  is  buildin'  on  a  rock.  But 
buildin'  on  our  own  notions  and  feelin's  and 
hopes  and  desires  is  poor  stuff.  The  first  bit 
of  a  breeze  and  a  smart  shower  and  'tis  all  over 
with  'em.  Backsliders  are  mostly  made  that 
way.  They  come  in  with  the  tide  and  they  go 
out  with  the  tide,  for  they  don't  heave  out  the 
anchor  and  hold  on  to  the  sure  promise  o'  the 
word." 

"  The  law  of  his  God  is  in  his  heart ;  none  of 
his  steps  shall  slide,"  nodded  young  Cap'en  Joe 
as  Dan'el  paused  a  moment. 

"  Prayer  is  very  good,  and  there's  no  gettin' 
on  without  that,  but  I  don't  believe  prayer  is 
prayer  without  the  word.  Prayer  is  no  good 
without  faith,  and  faith  cometh  by  the  word  o' 
God.  I  know  'tis  so  with  me.  I  can't  pray  right 
till  I  get  hold  of  a  promise  ;  then  I  can  go  as 
bold  as  a  lion.  Why,  if  I  was  to  go  down  to  Red- 
burn  and  walk  into  the  bank  and  ask  for  five 
pounds,  they'd  take  me  for  a  crazy  man.  What 
bis'ness  have  I  got  in  there  askin'  like  that  ? 
But  when  I  go  down  there  with  a  check  fur  five 


Searching  the  Scriptures.  141 

pounds — or  five  hundred  for  that  matter — I  go 
straight  in  and  I  put  it  down,  and  I  pick  up  my 
money  and  come  out  again.  Now  that's  just 
how  I  do  dearly  love  to  go  up  to  the  throne 
o'  the  heavenly  grace.  The  Bible  is  a  great 
book  o'  checks,  and  all  you  got  to  do  is  to 
put  your  name  in.  They're  all  signed,  ready 
and  waitin'." 

"  Bless  him,  they  are  all  yea  and  amen  in 
Christ  Jesus,"  whispered  dear  old  Frankey  in 
his  corner. 

"  And  then  'tis  when  a  man  is  searchin'  the 
Scriptures  that  he  begins  to  see  what  he  wants 
and  what  he  ought  to  be.  He  sees  the  blessings 
he  may  have,  an'  it  stirs  up  his  desires  and  sets 
him  a-longin'  and  hungerin';  like  when  a  hungry 
man  is  comin'  home  and  he  catches  a  sniff  o' 
something  savory  from  a  neighbor's  door,  it 
quickens  his  steps  and  sets  him  thinkin'  hard 
about  his  dinner.  Prayer  without  the  word  is  a 
heartless  kind  o'  thing.  There  isn't  any  grip 
about  it. 

"  There's  two  things  wanted  to  get  along  in 
this  religious  life,  and  you  wont  do  much  with 
only  one  of  'em — the  Bible  and  prayer  ;  prayer 
and  the  Bible.     We  can't  get  along  this  river 


142  Daniel  Quorm. 

with  only  one  oar  in  the  boat — we  shall  only 
keep  pullin'  round  and  round.  Scores  and  hun- 
dreds of  religious  people  are  to-day  just  where 
they  were  ten,  twenty,  thirty  years  ago,  'zactly 
in  the  same  place.  They've  got  no  more  light, 
no  more  power,  no  fresh  scenery  ;  nothing  al- 
tered. They  say  there's  '  no  standiii  still  in  re- 
ligion' Well  then  there's  a  deal  o'  lying  still — 
that's  all.  Folks  keep  all  their  old  tempers  and 
ailin's  and  failin's  just  as  if  time  had  stood  still ; 
and  the  reason  is,  that  they've  only  one  oar  in 
the  boat,  and  they  keep  pullin'  theirselves  round 
an'  round.  We  must  have  the  other  out  too ; 
we  sha'n't  do  any  thing  without  it.  We  must 
get  out  the  word  and  begin  to  pull  with  it,  and 
then,  though  it  may  be  slow,  we  shall  keep 
going  on. 

"  To  my  mind  that's  just  how  'tis  that  our  fa- 
thers went  ahead  of  us  so  much.  They  were 
mighty  learned  in  the  Scriptures,  and  didn't 
trouble  their  heads'  much  about  any  other  kind 
o'  learnin'  ;  and  in  spiritual  power  there  were 
giants  in  those  days  !  But  now  we  go  runnin* 
about  increasin'  knowledge.  The  newspapers 
come  busyin'  every  body  about  evq-y  thing 
that's  happenin'  any  where,   and    a  man  must 


Searching  the  Scriptures.  143 

know  all  that's  going  on  in  France  and  Russia 
and  out  in  all  them  foreign  parts.  Nobody  is 
ever  took  up  for  steaUng  a  pair  o'  boots  or  tres- 
passing after  a  hare,  but  you  must  stop  to  read 
all  about  it ;  and  all  the  time  the  Bible  is  kept 
under  your  finery  as  if  it  was  much  too  good  for 
every  day  ;  or  else  there's  a  great  pile  o'  books 
'pon  top  of  it,  like  as  if  every  kind  o'  reading 
come  before  that. 

"  The  first  thing  I  found  out  when  I  began 
to  search  the  Scriptures  was  this— that  it  isn't 
much  good  just  readin  the  Bible.  The  word  it- 
self doesn't  say  any  thing  that  1  can  remember 
about  readin'  it.  But  it  says  a  great  deal  about 
searchin  the  Scriptures.  And  it  says  a  great 
deal  more  about  meditatin  on  them.  I  have 
heard  folks  say— and  they've  been  very  sorry  as 
they've  said  it— that  they  couldn't  get  any  good 
in  readin'  the  Bible.  Any  little  bit  of  a  story, 
or  somebody's  sermon,  or  a  bit  of  any  other  re- 
ligious book,  did  'em  more  good  than  this.  They 
can't  understand  how  David  could  have  found 
it  more  precious  than  gold,  and  'sweeter  than 
honey.'  Here's  the  reason— they  only  read  it 
and  David  meditated  in  it. 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  pearls,  but  I've 


144  Daniel  Quorm. 

heard  tell  that  they  come  from  the  bottom  o' 
the  sea.  Now  we  come  up  and  look  at  the 
great  stretch  o'  water,  and  say,  '  This  is  where 
they  get  the  pearls  from ; '  and  we  take  up  the 
water,  and  get  nothing  but  bubbles  o'  foam. 
*  Pooh,'  we  say,  *  why  that's  not  pearls  ! '  and 
we  go  away  wonderin'  what  people  mean  by 
talking  as  they  do.  But  David  comes  along, 
and  he  dives  down  under  the  water,  down  ever 
so  far,  and  he  brings  up  a  wonderful  pearl,  and 
so  says  he,  It's  '  more  to  be  desired  than  gold, 
yea,  than  much  fine  gold.'  That's  it.  Readin' 
skims,  and  can't  find  any  thing  but  what  floats 
along  'pon  top ;  meditation  dives  down  deep, 
and  finds  pearls. 

"  You  know  one  day  the  disciples  heard  our 
Lord's  parable  about  the  sower.  They  could 
make  nothing  of  it ;  it  was  all  strange  and  dark, 
and  they  couldn't  see  any  thing  in  it.  That  was 
just  like  'tis  to  us  when  we  read  the  word  some- 
times.  But  when  they  got  to  a  quiet  place  they 
said  :  *Lord,  declaf^e  unto  us  ihis  parable!  Then 
he  began  to  explain  it ;  and  slowly  it  came  be- 
fore them  all  simple  and  beautiful,  and  did  them 
all  good.  Now  that  is  what  we  want :  sittin' 
down  in  a  quiet  place  askin'  the  Lord  to  explain 


Searching  the  Scriptures,  145 

It  to  us,  and  havin'  our  ears  open  to  hear  every 
word,  and  then  it  all  comes  so  plain  an'  blessed, 

*  sweeter  than  honey  and  the  honeycomb!  Or 
just  like  the  man  that  we  read  about  in  the 
Acts,  who  was  ridin'  along  in  his  carriage,  read- 
in'  the  Bible,  and  he  couldn't  make  any  thing  of 
it.     *  Who  is  the  prophet  talkin'  about,'  he  says  ; 

*  is  it  about  himself,  or  some  other  man.'  Then 
Philip  sat  down  alongside  of  him,  and  it  came 
out  all  clear  and  beautiful,  and  he  found  the 
pearl  of  great  price  in  the  word  that  seemed  so 
hard  to  be  understood — he  found  Jesus,  and  be- 
lieved with  all  his  heart,  and  was  baptized,  and 
'  went  on  his  way  rejoici7i!  Now  readin'  would 
ha'  shut  up  the  book  and  said, '  Dear  me,  I  can't 
tell  how  folks  get  any  good  out  of  this  here  ! ' 
But  meditation  brings  the  blessed  Spirit  to  us, 
and  he  opens  our  eyes  to  see  wondrous  things 
out  of  his  law,  and  we  do  begin  to  see  the 
blessed  Lord,  an'  full  o'  joy  and  peace  in  believ- 
in',  we  go  on  our  way  rejoicin*. 

"  There's  a  blessin'  in  every  bit  of  it,  only  we 
must  get  into  it,  and  that's  turnin'  it  oyer  and 
meditatin'  upon  it.  'Tis  like  one  o'  them  nuts 
with  the  milk  inside.  Here's  a  poor,  parched 
traveler,  and  he  picks  it  up — '  Call  this  delicious, 


146  Daniel  Quorm. 

says  he,  '  or  refreshin' !  Why  it's  nothing  but 
husks  and  wood,'  and  he  flings  it  away.  And 
another  thirsty  wayfarer  goes  by.  *  Here's  a 
lucky  find !'  he  cries  out;  and  he  strips  off  the 
husk  and  bores  into  it,  and  gets  a  refreshin' 
draught.  Meditatin'  upon  it  we  get  in  at  the 
sweetness  of  it.  That's  why  'tis,  my  friends, 
that  we  can't  get  along  with  the  Bible  like  David 
did.     We  read  it ;  David  meditated  on  it. 

"And  'tis'n't  only  for  gettin'  at  the  truth  o' 
the  Scriptures  that  we  must  turn  it  over  in  our 
thoughts  like  that.  We  want  more  than  that. 
We  wajit  to  get  the  truth  mto  us.  Folks  read 
the  Bible  hke  a  beggar  looks  into  a  baker's 
shop:  he  sees  the  rows  of  loaves,  but  he  can't 
lay  his  hand  on  'em.  Only  the  difference  is 
this,  that  the  beggar  has  got  an  appetite  if  he 
could  only  get  at  one  of  'em.  We  are  so  faint 
and  so  weak  that  we  don't  care  to  do  any  more 
than  look.  Now  meditation  is  like  gettin'  the 
hand  on  the  truth  that  feeds  us.  Samson  didn't 
only  look  at  the  bees'  nest,  but  he  got  at  the 
honey,  and  took  it  in  his  hands,  and  went  on 
eatin'  it.  'Tisn't  only  seein'  the  truth  but  get- 
tin' the  truth  mto  us  that  does  us  good.  That 
is  what   David   did.      *Thy  word    have   I  hid 


Searching  the  Scriptures.  147 

in  mine  heart,  that  I  might    not  sin  against 
Thee.' 

"  I've  heard  say  that  'tisn't  what  we  eat,  but 
what  we  digest,  that  strengthens  us.  I  know 
that's  true  in  feedin'  the  soul.  Why  no  kind  o* 
thoughts  are  much  to  a  man  till  they  get  into 
his  heart.  Passin'  thoughts  be  like  the  bees 
that  light  for  a  moment,  and  are  off  again  be- 
fore they  can  gather  honey  or  leave  a  sting ; 
they  do  neither  good  nor  harm.  But  when  a 
thought  not  only  comes  into  a  man's  mind,  but 
begins  to  wake  up  the  desires  and  stir  the 
heart,  then  it  does  something  ;  and  you'll  see 
what  the  man  is  like  ;  for  desires  grow  up  into 
resolutions,  and  it  comes  up  in  full-grown  say- 
ins'  and  doin's  ;  and  thoughts  like  that  are  the 
makin'  of  a  man  or  the  ruin  of  him.  Now 
that's  just  where  we  must  get  the  trutli  o'  God's 
blessed  book.  'Tis'n't  much  to  read,  but  then 
we  begin  to  feel  it,  and  the  strength  and  blessin' 
and  peace  of  it  goes  all  through  us,  and  we  get 
to  be  like  the  young  men,  strong  because  '  the 
word  abideth  in  us! 

"  And,  dear  friends,  in  these  times,  when  life 
is  all  so  busy,  and   the  soul  has  got   such  lots 
o'    cares    that    go     rumbUn'    and    rollin'    over 
10 


148  Daniel  Quorm. 

it,  makin'  it  hard  and  barren  like  a  high- 
way, nothing  but  meditatin'  on  the  truth  will 
get  it  into  us.  When  the  fields  are  dried  up 
with  the  heat  they  want  more  than  the  evenin' 
dew  and  a  passin'  shower.  We  want  a  kind  of 
a  soakin*  rain  that  don't  run  over  the  surface, 
but  do  get  right  down  to  the  roots.  And  noth- 
ing else  '11  do  it  for  us  but  a  quiet,  steady  medi- 
tatin' before  the  Lord  'pon  his  word.  Why  I 
believe  that  if  some  o'  the  Lord's  feeble  folk 
would  try  this — just  a  half  an  hour's  quiet 
thinkin'  over  the  Lord's  word — they'd  hardly 
know  theirselves  in  a  month,  and  their  nearest 
friends  would  begin  to  think  that  they  were 
ripenin'  for  glory,  sure  'nough. 

"  When  a  man  begins  the  day  like  that  he  do 
keep  such  a  glow  of  God's  presence  and  favor 
about  him,  just  like  Moses  came  down  from  the 
Mount  and  went  among  the  people,  and  his  face 
shone  still,  go  where  he  would.  And  then  it 
do  keep  the  mind  all  so  fresh  and  clean,  and 
give  a  flavor  to  all  the  thoughts.  It  always  re- 
minds me  of  when  I  was  a  little  lad  runnin' 
about  the  kitchen,  and  I've  seen  my  mother 
pick  a  bay  leaf  and  put  in  among  the  marin- 
ated pilchards.     ''Tisn't  much,'  she'd  say,  *but 


Searching  the  Scriptures.  149 

It  gives  *em  a  flavor,  Dan'el ;  it  gives  '  em  a 
flavor.*  Aye,  'tis  wonderful  how  a  leaf  0'  the 
Tree  o'  Life  will  keep  its  sweetness  and  make 
all  that  it's  put  into  sweet  and  nice  !  And  then 
all  day  long  it'll  gather  good  thoughts  about  it, 
like  the  laurel-tree  home  in  my  bit  o'  garden. 
There  isn't  any  hive  about  there  that  I  know 
of,  but  for  all  that  the  bees  '11  be  humming 
about  there  from  sunrise  to  sunset.  No,  my 
dear  friends,  we  sha'n't  get  along  a  bit  without 
it,  and  we  sha'n't  go  far  wrong  if  we  do  stick 
to  it.  *  Search  the  Scriptures'  says  our  blessed 
Lord  ;  '  they  are  they  which  testify  of  me'  But 
come,  let  somebody  else  tell  us  how  they 
manage.'* 

The  sharp  little  eye  peered  across  to  young 
Cap'n  Joe,  confident  that  in  this  matter  he  could 
add  something  to  what  had  been  said.  Nor  had 
he  to  wait  long. 

"Well,  my  dear  leader,"  Cap'n  Joe  began, 
"  there  is  just  one  thing  thai  I  dare  say  you  can 
manage  better  than  some  of  us.  You  see,  we 
can't  always  get  that  half  hour's  quiet.  I'm 
sure  we  could  get  it  very  often  when  we  don't 
care  to ,  and  a  little  bit  off  our  sleep  would  go 
a  long  way  to  wake  up  our  souls — I'm  sure  of 


150  Daniel  Quorm. 

that.  But  there  are  times  when  you  can't  get 
it  anyhow.  When  there's  any  thing  amiss  up  to 
the  mine,  I'm  there  late  at  night,  and  ha\  e  to 
be  there  early  in  the  morning  Now  how  is  a 
man  to  manage  then  }" 

Many  a  head  nodded  its  sympathy  with  Cap'n 
Joe. 

"Manage,  Cap'n,"  cried  Dan' el,  as  a  merry 
twinkle  played  about  his  eye,  "why  there's 
times  as  I  can'  stay  to  get  my  dinner  sittin* 
down  to  it  proper,  but  I  don't  starve  for  all  that. 
I  get  a  smack  now  and  then,  a  bit  here  an'  there, 
in  the  middle  o'  my  work.  'Tis  no  reason  why 
a  man  should  starve  because  he  can't  sit  down 
■  properly  to  the  table,  and  have  a  knife  and  fork 
and  a  table-cloth,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  Give 
me  a  pasty  under  a  hedge  with  my  old  clasp- 
knife,  and  I  can  make  a  dinner  fit  for  a  king. 
If  we've  got  the  appetite  we  shall  get  a  meal 
somehow.  To  begin  with  now,  there  be  hours 
in  a  busy  day  when  a  man's  head  isn't  taken  up 
with  any  thing  though  his  hands  have  got  to 
keep  at  it.  And  if  he  can  put  something  good 
into  his  thoughts  he  can  be  turnin'  it  over,  how- 
ever busy  he  may  be.  When  I've  got  to  begin 
work  early  in  the   morning,  I  open  my  Bible  at 


Searching  the  Scriptures.  151 

night,  an'  pick  out  a  passage  for  the  next  day. 
As  soon  as  I  get  up  I  look  at  the  words,  and 
say  them  over  to  myself  three  or  four  times ; 
then  I  shut  up  the  book,  and  hurry  away  as  fast 
as  you  like ;  for  wherever  I've  got  to  go,  or 
whatever  I've  got  to  do,  I  can  keep  thinkin*  over 
the  text,  and  kind  o'  inwardly  digestin'  it,  as  the 
prayer  says.  But  you  don't  belong  to  the  starv- 
in'  sort,  Cap  n  Joe — how  do  you  manage  now  ? " 

Cap'n  Joe's  reply  was  in  pulling  out  a  little 
pocket  Testament.  "Just  as  you  said,  leader, 
if  I  can't  have  my  dinner  at  home  I  carry  it  with 
me ;  and  a  man  must  be  hard  up  if  he  can't 
find  a  place  to  eat  it  when  he  has  got  it  in  his 
pocket." 

"  Precisely,  Cap'n.  If  we  make  up  our  minds 
to  do  it,  we  shall ;  and  if  we  don't  mind  about 
it,  we  shan't.  'Tis  with  this  like  'tis  with  every 
thing  else.  But,  Frankey,  we  must  have  a  word 
from  you.  What's  your  opinion  about  this  here 
matter .? " 

"  Well,  my  dear  leader,  I  don't  know  as  my 
'pinions  be  worth  any  thing,  but,  bless  the  Lord ! 
his  word  be  every  thing  to  me — every  thing  ;  " 
and  a  radiant  joy  spread  over  the  wasted  face, 
and  every  word  trembled  with  deep  emotion 


152  Daniel  Quorm. 

"  Whilst  I've  been  sittin  Vere,  I've  been  a-think- 
in'  about  my  boy  over  to  Australia.  He  says 
how  he  do  look  out  for  a  letter  from  home,  and 
when  it  comes  how  he  reads  it  over  an'  over. 
One  day  he  was  bad  o'  fever,  and  the  man  that 
he  was  along  with  waited  'pon  him,  and  tended 
him,  he  said,  like  a  mother ;  and  just  when  the 
boy  was  gettin  better  the  man  comes  in  and 
says,  *  You  wont  want  for  medicine,  now  ;  here's 
a  letter  from  home  ! '  And  the  boy  wrote  back 
by  next  post  to  say  that  it  cured  'en  'most 
directly. 

"  Dear  lad,  out  there  all  alone  to  have  word 
comin'  that  we  do  think  about  'em,  an'  pray  for 
him,  and  love  him  !  And  so  I  read  my  Father's 
letter,  and  feel  all  his  love  and  care  for  me,  and 
know  that  home  there  to  my  Father's  house 
they  do  think  about  me,  and  get  a  place  ready 
for  me,  for  all  I'm  nothing  but  poor  old  Frankey 
—it  be  wonderful,  wonderful,  sure  'nough  !  And 
the  boy,  we  can  only  send  him  a  letter  once  a 
month,  but  seemin'  to  me  as  if  I  had  a  letter 
from  my  Father  every  day,  and  such  .wonderful 
letters  too,  bless  his  dear  Name !  Then  some- 
times we've  got  sad  tidin's  to  send  the  lad,  and 
it  be  all  full  o'  poor  speed  ;  but  there's  nothing 


Searching  the  Scriptures.  153 

but  good  tidin's  in  my  Father's  letters.  Nobody 
is  ever  afeard  to  begin  to  read  one  o'  'em,  think- 
in'  somethin'  bad  have  happened,  Hke  we  did 
when  the  boy  couldn't  write  hisself,  and  the 
man  had  to  write  for  him,  and  we  turned  all 
cold  as  soon  as  ever  we  see  the  strange  writin'. 
Bless  Him,  His  letters  be  always  full  o'  rejoicin', 
and  I  do  open  'em  making  sure  that  every  thing 
be  right ;  for  nothing  can  '  separate  us  from  the 
love  of  God,  which  is  in  Christ  Jesus  our  Lord.' 
"  The  dear  boy  says  that  when  he  begins  to 
read  the  letter  'tis  like  as  if  he  was  home  again, 
and  he  can  see  us  all,  and  do  know  just  what 
we're  all  a-doin'  of  And  that's  how  'tis  some- 
times wb.en  I'm  readin'  the  word ;  instead  of 
bein'  only  words  wrote  down  in  a  book,  'tis  all 
livin'  and  real,  and  I  can  see  it  all  and  feel  it 
all.  It  minds  me  always  of  the  prophet  when 
he  stretched  himself  out  'pon  the  dead  child, 
and  the  child  began  to  get  warm,  and  opened 
his  eyes  and  spoke  out.  It  be  wonderful,  won- 
derful, how  we  can  stretch  ourselves  out  'pon 
the  promises — lie  down  on  'em  full  length — and 
they  begin  to  live,  and  speak,  and  ben't  words 
that  somebody  spoke  a  long  time  ago,  but  do 
come  fresh  and  warm  from  the  lips  0'  the  blessed 


154  Daniel  Quorm. 

Lord,  all  full  o'  his  gentle  love  and  tenderness 
an'  power.  O,  my  dear  leader,  the  word  is  every 
thing !  An*  I  was  thinkin'  how  I  should  love 
to  write  a  letter  out  to  the  dear  boy,  sayin*, 
*  Come  home,  for  we  can  live  home  here  now, 
all  of  us,  and  I'm  quite  well,  and  we  sha'n't 
want  any  more,  but  we'll  be  all  together  as  hap- 
py as  we  can  live.  Ah,  bless  Him,  that  is  how  I 
sometimes  read  it  in  my  Father's  letters.  It 
wont  be  long — I  expect  it  every  post  now,  the 
message  that'll  say :  *  Rise  up,  my  love,  and 
come  away. ' " 


On  Two  Wa)^s  to  Heaven,  155 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

ON   TWO    WAYS   TO   HEAVEN. 

*^  T   USED  to  think  that  there  was  only  one 

^   way  to  heaven. 

"  I  know  now  that  there's  two.  There's  only 
one  gate  to  go  in  at,  and  they  both  lead  up  to 
the  *  one  golden  gate  at  the  other  end  ;  but 
there's  two  paths  from  one  to  the  other. 

"'Tis  just  like  the  fields  goin'  up  to  Brea. 
You  get  in  over  the  stile,  and  as  soon  as  you're 
over  there's  two  footpaths,  and  you  may  go 
along  which  you've  got  a  mind.  One  is  down 
by  the  side  o'  the  ditch,  all  in  between  furze 
bushes,  an'  there's  some  ugly  old  shafts  about 
there  covered  over  with  nothing  but  bramble 
bushes,  an'  there's  nothin'  to  see  but  a  great 
stone  wall  all  along.  The  other  way  is  up 
higher :  'tis  a  bit  of  a  climb  at  first,  but  you  get 
up  above  the  furze  bushes,  and  then  you  have  a 
good  view  all  round  and  a  draft  o'  fresh  air,  an' 
you  can  look  out  'pon  the  blue  sea  and  the  glo- 
rious white  clouds  risin'  up  ever  so  far  off,  like  a 


156  Daniel  Quorm. 

land  where  there's  no  sin.  Now  it  seems  to 
me  that's  just  hke  some  folks  goin'  to  heaven. 
Good  folks,  I'm  sure,  an'  they've  come  in  the 
right  way,  an'  they'll  get  to  heaven  if  they  keep 
on  :  but  they're  all  among  the  furze  bushes,  an* 
old  tangled  ways,  draggin'  themselves  through 
brambles  an'  brakes  ;  they've  got  to  keep  look- 
in'  for  the  right  way,  an'  they  can't  see  any 
thing  of  the  view  for  the  great  stone  fence. 
However  it  may  come  about,  so  it  is.  Some 
folks  '11  find  a  way  to  heaven  that'll  keep  'em 
singing  all  along,  as  happy  as  a  lark.  They 
serve  the  Lord  with  gladness.  But  other  folks 
'11  go  sighin',  an'  fearin',  an'  worryin',  and  always 
be  in  a  way  chuck-full  o'  brambles  an'  furze 
bushes. 

"  I  don't  believe  you  can  explain  it,  by  talkin' 
about  what  some  have  got  to  bear,  an'  what 
some  have  got  to  do  without;  some  pilgrims 
going  along  the  way  bare-foot,  an'  some  goin',  as 
folks  say,  in  silver  slippers.  That  wont  account 
for  it ;  I've  met  Bare-foot  many  a  time  runnin' 
along  like  a  strong  man  in  the  upper  path,  and 
I've  seen  Silver-slipper  and  gouty  Prosperity 
go  limpin'  along  the  lower  way.  Look  at  dear 
old  Frankey — bless  him,  I'm  'fraid   we  sha'nt 


On  Two  Ways  to  Heaven.  157 

have  him  with  us  much  longer  !  Now  if  any  of 
us  is  goin'  to  heaven  bare-foot,  that's  Frankey ; 
and  yet  he's  *pon  the  mountain-top  all  day  long. 
I've  just  come  from  seein'  him,  and  what  he  said 
has  set  me  a-thinkin'  about  this  matter.  His 
cough  was  bad,  sure  'nough,  but  his  face  was 
lighted  up  with  glory. 

" '  Just  outside  0'  the  golden  gates,  I  reckon, 
Frankey  .? '  I  says  to  him. 

"  *  Yes,  my  dear  leader,  just  outside.  I  can 
'most  hear  their  music' 

"  '  But  it  seems  to  me  that  you've  been  'pon 
the  steps  for  years  a-ready,  Frankey.' 

" '  Well,  is'nt  it  the  best  place  to  get  to  .? '  he 
said  between  his  breath.  '  If  Lazarus  could  come 
an*  lay  himself  down  at  the  rich  man's  gate  an* 
pick  up  the  crumbs  from  the  rich  man's  table, 
why  he'd  ha'  been  a  stupid  to  ha'  stayed  away 
an'  starved,  wouldn't  he  }  And  I  soon  found  out 
that  my  dear  Lord  did'n'  mean  me  to  go  about 
so  miserable  as  I  could  be,  but  that  I  might 
come  right  up  to  the  golden  gate  o'  my  Father's 
house,  where,  bless  him  !  there's  bread  enough 
an'  to  spare  ;  an'  that  I  might  pick  up  the 
crumbs  o'  heaven's  glory,  so  much  as  ever  I 
could  carry.     It  would  be  strange  if  I'd  stayed 


158  Daniel  Quorm. 

away,  an'  perished  of  hunger  ?     Why,  I  should 
ha'  been  a  stupid,  shouldn't  I,  my  dear  leader  ?* 

" '  Strange,  yes,  Frankey,  '  twould,'  I  said  ; 
*  an'  'tis  wonderful  how  many  o'  the  pilgrims  go- 
in'  to  heaven  be  strange,  sure  'nough— stranger 
here  than  they'd  be  in  any  thing  else.  Walkin' 
when  they  could  ride,  and  ridin'  third-class 
when  they  could  go  first  just  as  cheap.* 

" '  Ridin' !  my  dear  leader,'  says  Frankey, 
lookin'  so  happy ;  *  why  bless  'e  'tis  more  like 
flyin'  home,  flyin'  up  like  a  lark,  an'  you  can't 
help  singin'  as  you  go.' 

"Now,  friends,  I've  been  thinkin'  as  I  came 
along  here  that  this  is  a  secret  worth  tryin'  to 
find  out.  I've  thought  about  it  very  often  be- 
fore now.  Once  when  I  was  up  to  London  I 
was  goin'  to  the  Crystal  Palace,  and  I  asked  a 
policeman  to  show  me  where  to  get  my  ticket. 

"  *  There's  two  lines,'  he  said  ;  *  which  do  you 
want } ' 

"  Of  course  I  told  him  I  wanted  the  best,  an* 
asked  what  difference  there  was  between  them. 

"'Well,'  said  he,  'they  both  start  ftom  this 
station,  an'  they  both  get  to  the  palace.  They 
call  one  the  high-level,  and  the  other  the  low- 
level.      One   runs    right   into   the   palace,   and 


On  Two  Ways  to  Heaven.  159 

there  you  are.  The  other  sets  you  down  not 
far  off,  only  you've  got  to  go  up  scores  o'  stairs 
before  you're  into  the  place  itself.' 

"  *  Ah/  I  says  in  a  moment,  '  if  that's  it,  giva 
me  the  high-level,  of  course.*  An'  I  wondered 
that  any  body  ever  went  the  other  way. 

"That  set  me  a  meditatin'  about  it.  Folks 
goin'  to  heaven  by  the  low-level ;  goin'  down 
under  their  privileges  ;  goin'  to  heaven,  but 
ever  so  much  lower  than  they  might  be ;  goin* 
through  tunnels  an'  cuttin's,  instead  o'  bein* 
up  in  the  light  an'  sunshine  a-viewin'  the  land- 
scape o'er.  And  then  when  the  journey's  done, 
seemin'  to  me  they'll  have  a  great  lot  o'  stairs 
to  climb  up,  somehow. 

"  I  fancy  sometimes  that  I  can  see  the  begin- 
nin'  of  it.  You  start  from  the  same  station,  but 
the  lines  are  different.  There's  Paul  startin* 
for  the  celestial  city — I  was  goin'  to  say  the 
Crystal  Palace,  and  it  wouldn't  have  mattered 
much  if  I  had,  for  it  is  that.  Paul  got  right  off 
'pon  the  high-level  at  the  very  first.  He  says, 
*  Lord,  what  wilt  thou  have  me  to  do  "^ '  It  was 
Thoti.  He  hadn't  a  great  big  capital  I  stuck 
in  his  thoughts,  so  big  that  he  couldn't  see  any 
thing  else.     But  the   jailer   cried   out,  *  What 


i6o  Daniel  Quorm. 

must  I  do  to  be  saved  f  *  It  was  I,  all  I,  with 
him.  Of  course  he  was  only  a  heathen,  and 
perhaps  came  to  see  different  after  they'd  spoken 
the  word  o'  the  Lord  to'  him.  But  whatever  he 
did,  there's  thousands  o'  people  who  never  get 
beyond  that.  *  What  must  I  do  to  be  saved  f 
It  is  all  this  great  I.  They  hug  it,  and  love  it, 
and  bring  it  up  to  be  saved.  Mind  you,  I  don't 
say  that  it  isn't  right.  '  What  shall  a  man  give 
in  exchange  for  his  soul? '  We  are  every  one  of 
us  bound  to  make  our  callin'  an'  election  sure. 
A  man  comes  to  Jesus  seekin'  his  own  salva- 
tion, like  this,  an'  he  shall  find  it,  too  ;  and  if 
he  holds  on  he  shall  get  to  heaven.  But  for  all 
that  'tis  the  low-level.  And  Paul  went  along 
a  more  excellent  way.  The  high-level  starts 
there  where  a  man  doesn't  see  himself  so  much 
as  he  sees  his  blessed  Lord,  and  he  sees  what 
his  sins^  have  done — and  he  hates  himself,  for 
he  sees  how  he  has  injured  an'  grieved  an'  hurt 
his  Lord  ;  and  he  sees  his  blessed  Saviour  as 
the  '  altogether  lovely ' — and  he  falls  down  at  his 
feet,  and  wants  to  do  any  thing  for  him.  All 
his  soul  cries  out,  'Lord,  what  wilt  thou  have 
me  to  do  ? ' 

"  That's  how  the  ways  begin.    And  that's  how 


On  Two  Ways  to  Heaven.  i6i 

they  go  on.  The  low-level  man  climbs  over 
the  stile,  and  he  sees  the  path  that  goes  down 
the  hill.  Thinkin  all  about  himself,  he  says, 
'  Well,  I'll  save  myself  this  bit  of  a  climb,  an* 
so  he  gets  down  among  the  brambles  an'  brakes. 
An  ten  to  one  but  he  '11  go  sighin'  an'  grumblin' 
and  thinkin'  what  a  hard  road  it  is  to  travel, 
this  road  to  Zion  ;  and  when  he  gets  to  class 
he'll  have  nothin'  to  talk  about  but  his  tempta- 
tions an'  troubles,  and  the  worldly  folks  that 
are  over  the  other  side  will  say.  What  a  dismal 
thing  religion  is  !  But  the  high- level  man  jumps 
over  the  stile  to  meet  his  blessed  Lord.  When 
he  sees  the  path  goin'  up  the  hill-side,  he  says, 
*  Why  I  shall  be  nearer  to  him  up  there,  and 
shall  see  more  o'  his  beauty.'  He  climbs  up 
the  stiff  bit,  and  then  he  goes  singin'  along  in 
the  sunshine,  with  a  lovely  view.  Poor  Low- 
level  is  goin'  to  the  same  place,  but  he'll  see 
nothing  but  a  great  stone  wall,  and  the  worst 
of  it  is  that  he'll  have  to  climb  twice  as  much 
when  he  gets  to  the  other  end  o'  the  field. 

"There's  scores  o'  people  goin'  on  like  that. 
They  are  very  religious,  but  their  rehgion  hds 
never  got  into  the  sunshine  and  the  joy.  And 
the  reason  is  just  this,  that  they  only  think  about 


i62  Daniel  Quorm. 

themselves.  They  pray,  but  'tis  only  that  the 
Lord  would  take  care  o'  them,  and  feed  'em 
and  clothe  *em,  and  bring  'em  safe  home  at  last. 
But  on  the  high-level  a  man  doesn't  care  so 
much  to  ask  for  any  thing  as  to  get  into  the 
presence  of  his  dear  Lord,  and  feel  how  good 
an'  kind  he  is,  an'  then  try  all  day  to  please  him. 
Low-level  keeps  a-sayin',  *  I  hope  the  Lord'll 
keep  me  to  the  end.'  High-level 'kttY^s  a-sayin', 
*  My  meat  mi  my  dri7ik  is  to  do  the  will  of  my 
Father  which  is  in  heaven! 

"  The  psalmist  says,  '  Serve  the  Lord  with 
gladness.'  But  Lew-level  doesn't  think  about 
servin'  the  Lord,  so  much  as  the  Lord  serviu 
htjn.  Or  if  he  does  set  himself  for  to  serve  the 
Lord,  'tis  for  a  crown  an'  a  robe  by  way  o* 
wages.  Trust  'em,  they  wont  forget  themselves. 
There's  gladness  for  any  body  when  they'll  set 
themselves  with  all  their  heart  to  please  their 
dear  Lord,  and  keep  on  doin'  it.  That  level  '11 
take  'em  right  up  to  the  throne — right  up  along- 
side o'  the  angels  an'  archangels  who  serve  him 
day  and  night  in  his  temple. 

"  Why,  when  I  was  a  Httle  lad,  there  were 
some  days  that  I  can  mind  now  like  as  if  it  was 
only  yesterday.     The  sky  wus  such  a  wonderful 


Oil  Two  Ways  to  Heaven.  163 

bright  color,  and  the  birds  a-singin',  too,  won- 
derful, and  every  thing  I  saw  an'  heard  was  so 
full  o'  strange  beauty  and  a  kind  o'  delicious 
joy,  that  I  had  to  dance  with  very  gladness. 
Ah,  I  can  mind  quite  well  how  it  was.  'Twas 
when  I  set  myself  to  please  my  mother,  and 
tried  to  do  it  all  day  long,  and  did  it,  too  ; 
an'  she'd  see  me  tryin',  and  used  to  give  me  a 
smile  or  a  word  o'  love.  Eh,  talk  about  heaven  ; 
about  what  is  there,  and  what  isn't  there.  I 
don't  care  so  much  about  that.  That's  heaven 
down  here,  and  up  above,  too,  when  a  man  has 
set  himself  to  please  the  Lord,  and  he  whispers 
to  his  heart,  *  Well  done,  good  servant!  Why, 
if  'tis  in  a  tumble-down  cottage,  or  a  mighty 
palace,  'tis  all  one  :  that  man  enters  into  the  joy 
of  his  Lord.     That's  heaven. 

"  No  wonder  poor  Low-level  is  so  dull — the 
only  wonder  would  be  if  he  were  any  thing  else. 
He  carries  himself  ^^howX.  with  him  like  a  great  pair 
o'  blinkers  that  shut  out  the  view  and  shut  him 
up  in  the  dark.  That  High-level  gets  up  on  the 
top  of  the  Delectable  Mountains,  an'  gets  out 
his  spy-glass,  and  forgets  himself,  because  he 
sees  so  much  o'  the  love,  an'  wisdom,  an'  power, 

an'  glory  of  his  blessed  Lord  ;  and  he  begins  to 
11 


164  Daniel  Quorm. 

praise  him  with  all  his  heart,  because  he  can't 
help  it.  How  can  he  do  any  thing  else  but 
praise  him  when  he  sees  how  good,  an'  kind, 
an'  wise  he  is  ?  And  how  can  any  body  be  any 
other  than  dismal  and  dull  when  he  keeps  his 
thoughts  always  'pon  his  own  self?  He'll  have 
to  look  a  long  time  before  he  sees  much  to  sing 
about  there.  If  we  don't  want  dull  thoughts  to 
come  we  must  keep  'em  away  like  I  keep  the 
weeds  out  o'  my  bit  o'  garden.  I  fill  the  bed 
so  full  o'  flowers  that  there  isn't  any  room  for 
weeds.  Let  a  man  live  where  he  can  keep  his 
mind  stayed  'pon  his  Lord,  and  he  wont  have 
much  room  for  dismal  old  thoughts  and  fears 
about  his  own  self. 

*  The  op'ning  heavens  around  me  shine, 

With  beams  of  sacred  bliss, 
If  Jesus  shows  his  mercy  mine, 
And  whispers  I  am  his.' 

-  "  Depend  'pon  it  'tis  just  like  this  here :  if 
we  come  to  the  Father  only  for  what  we  can 
get,  askin'  for  the  portion  o'  goods,  well,  we 
shall  have  it  because  we  are  sons.  But  we 
shall  always  want  something  else.  We  shall 
never  feel  so  full  o'  satisfaction  that  it'll  have  to 
run  over  into  a  bit  o'  singin',  like  the  brook  up 


On  Two  Ways  to  Heaven.  165 

to  Carwinnin.  'Tis  when  we  come  to  feel  that 
the  portion  o'  goods  is  very  little — nothin'  at  all 
in  comparison — but  that  the  Father  is  every 
thing,  then  our  hearts  begin  to  sing.  Why, 
with  the  Father's  blessed  voice  in  our  ears,  and 
his  arms  about  our  necks,  an'  his  love  in  our 
hearts,  we  can't  help  ourselves.  We  must  begin 
to  be  merry. 

"  Paul  went  along  the  high-level  because  he 
died  to  his  own  self,  and  lived  only  for  Christ. 
Pain,  and  loss,  and  trouble,  and  death,  were 
nothing  to  Paul  if  he  could  only  serve  his 
blessed  Lord.  But  folks  that  go  along  the  low- 
level  are  always  wantin'  the  Lord  to  wait  'pon 
them  with  health  and  prosperity,  sunshine  an' 
best  robes.  I  do  dearly  love  to  read  an'  think 
about  Paul  and  his  way  to  heaven.  Why,  my 
dear  friends,  we  should  hardly  know  ourselves 
if  we  went  to  live  up  there  where  Paul  lived. 
I've  heard  folks  who've  come  home  from  Cali- 
fornia say,  that  out  there  the  air  is  so  pure  that 
you  can  ^e  miles  an'  miles,  every  thing  is  s^i 
clear ;  an  'tis  all  so  still  that  you  can  hear  sing- 
in'  miles  off,  an'  'tis  always  like  summer  ovei 
there,  so  that  the  bees  don't  la}*  up  any  honey 
because  there's  no  winter,  and  no  need  for  it. 


1 66  Daniel  Quorm. 

Now  that's  the  high-level  to  heaven,  'zactly.  'Tis 
up  where  you  can  see  ever  so  far,  where  you 
always  catch  sight  o'  the  golden  gates,  an'  see 
the  shinin'  o'  the  Father's  house,  and  when  'tis 
very  still  you  can  a'most  hear  the  singin'  inside. 
r  wonder  we  don't  emigrate  right  off,  'tis  such 
a  pretty  country,  an'  no  rates  nor  taxes.  And 
like  the  bees,  you've  got  honey  up  there  all  the 
year  round,  no  great  black  clouds  o'  care  comin* 
about  like  a  hurricane,  and  no  ugly  old  fears 
keep  a  whisperin'  about  the  winter,  an'  what- 
ever we  shall  do  to  get  along  then.  Why,  'tis 
down  here  for  us  as  well  as  up  there,  if  we 
would  only  have  it : — 

'  There  everlasting  spring  abides 
And  never-withering  flowers.' 

And  if  you  like  to  ask  why  we  don't  live  there, 
the  answer  is  plain  enough, 

*  Self^  like  a  narrow  sea,  divides 
This  heavenly  land  from  ours.' 

"  Seems  to  me  that  Paul  made  short  work  of 
self.  He  gave  self  notice  to  quit,  an'  gave  up 
the  freehold  to  his  blessed  Lord.  And  I  mean 
to  try  and  follow  his  example,  and  to  say  to  my 
own  self,  *  Dan'el,  I  wont  have  you  for  a  tenant 


0)1  Two  Ways  to  Heaven.  167 

any  longer ;  you're  more  trouble  to  me  than  all 
the  world  besides.  You're  so  hard  to  please, 
an'  so  uncertain,  that  if  you  happen  to  be  all 
right  to-day,  there's  no  knowin'  what  you'll  be 
like  to-morrow.  I  shall  turn  'e  out,  neck  and 
crop,  with  all  your  goods  and  chattels.'  That's 
what  I  want  for  my  own  self,  friends.  My  heart 
cries  out,  '  My  Lord,  come  in,  and  live  in  this 
house,  not  like  a  great  visitor  for  me  to  enter- 
tain, and  ask  a  favor  of  now  and  then  ;  but 
come  in  an'  be  the  Master  and  I'll  be  the  serv- 
int,  an'  all  I  am  shall  wait  upon  thee.'  That's 
what  I  want  for  myself;  and  then  when  any 
body  knocked  to  the  door  an'  said — *  Dan'el 
Quorm  live  here — does  he  .-* '  I  should  dearly 
love  to  say,  Dan'el's  gone  away,  and  he's  dead 
and  buried  :  '  Nevertheless  I  live  ;  yet  not  I,  but 
Christ  liveth  in  me.' 

"  Paul  gives  us  a  good  many  short  cuts  across 
from  the  low-level  to  the  high.  There's  one  in 
the  twelfth  chapter  o'  Romans,  and  in  the  first 
verse  :  *  I  beseech  you,  brethren,  by  the  mercies 
of  God;  that  ye  present  your  bodies  a  livin' 
sacrifice,  holy,  acceptable  unto  God,  which  is 
your  reasonable  service.'  Now,  seems  to  me, 
that's  plain  enough  for  any  body.     Here's  the 


i68  Daniel  Quorm. 

house,  a  three-storied  house,  consistin'  o'  body, 
soul,  and  spirit.  You  go  on  month  after  month, 
an'  year  after  year,  sayin'  what  you'd  like  to  do 
an'  what  you  mean  to  do.  I've  heard  scores  o* 
sermons  about  this  text,  an'  heard  it  talked 
about  hundreds  o'  times,  and  I've  heard  folks 
say  in  their  prayers  that  they  desired  to  do  it. 
But  hearin'  about  it,  an'  talkin'  about  it,  and 
prayin'  about  it,  like  that,  isn't  a  morsel  o'  good. 
Here,  take  the  key,  and  go  right  away  and  give 
it  up  to  the  Lord  once  for  all,  and  have  done 
with  it.  We  go  dilly-dallying  about  it  year  after 
year,  till  the  old  walls  fall  in,  and  there's  noth- 
ing left  but  a  heap  o*  rubbish.  ^  Present  your 
bodies',  says  Paul.  Go  in  before  the  Lord  and 
say,  *  Here  I  am.  Lord,  take  me  altogether,  thine 
and  thine  for  evermore.'  Give  him  the  house 
an'  let  us  just  sweep  the  rooms  an'  keep  it  so 
nice  as  ever  we  can  for  him.  The  Lord  help  us, 
every  one,  to  be  high-level  Christians. 

So  Dan' el  finished,  and  a  hearty  Amen  came 
from  most  of  the  members.  For  a  moment 
there  was  silence,  for  Dan'el  often  broke  through 
the  set  form  and  routine  of  speaking  and  en- 
couraged a  conversation.  Then  it  was  that 
young  Cap'n  Joe  struck  in. 


On   Two  Wayi  to  Heaven.  169 

"  Well,  friends,  I  don't  know  how  'tis  with 
you,  but  there  isn't  a  subject  in  the  world  tliat 
has  been  more  in  my  thoughts  lately  than  this 
that  our  leader  has  been  talking  about ;  only  it 
seems  to  me  as  if  he  thought  the  bit  of  a  climb 
was  just  nothing  at  all,  and  that  a  man  could  be 
up  on  the  high-level  in  a  minute.  You  talk 
about  it  as  a  path  in  the  field,  but  to  me  'tis 
something  very  different  from  that.  I  was  down 
to  Portreath  the  other  day  when  the  tide  was 
out,  and  as  I  was  walking  along  on  the  pier,  I 
saw  an  old  friend  of  mine  on  the  sands  below 
me.  I  leaned  over  and  said  in  a  joke,  '  Come 
up  here  ! '  He  looked  up ;  it  was  only  twenty  feet 
or  so  above  him,  *  Ah,  I  wish  I  could,'  he  said. 
It  was  twenty  feet  of  granite  wall  without  a 
foothold  in  it,  and  he  had  to  go  back  a  long  way 
over  the  sands  before  he  could  get  up.  Now 
what  you  call  a  path  in  a  field  is  a  good  deal 
more  like  the  face  of  a  granite  wall  to  me.  I've 
tried  to  climb  it  till  I'm  ready  to  give  up  in  de- 
spair, and  sometimes  it  quite  frets  and  vexes  me 
to  hear  people  talkin*  about  it  as  they  do,  for 
I've  tried  ever  so  hard,  and  never  seemed  to 
me  to  be  so  far  away  as  I  am  to-night,  for  all 
my  trying." 


I/O  Daniel  Quorm. 

It  was  plain  that  young  Cap'n  Joe  had  hit  a 
difficulty  that  was  shared  by  many.  Eyes  met 
each  other,  and  heads  nodded  in  sympathy,  and 
earnest  faces  were  thrust  forward  to  catch  the 
reply. 

A  happy  smile  came  over  Dan  el's  rugged 
face  as  he  began :  "  Ah,  Cap'n  Joe,  I'm  glad  to 
hear  what  thou  hast  said.  I'm  fine  an'  glad  that 
thou'st  got  so  far  as  that.  We've  got  to  learn 
that  lesson  a'most  before  every  step  in  religion 
— that  we  can't  get  on  a  bit  in  our  own  strength, 
but  that  'tis  accordin'  to  our  faith.  Why  now, 
didn't  you  come  to  Jesus  years  ago  as  a  poor 
sinner  with  the  great  burden  'pon  your  back  .? 
You  wanted  to  get  rid  of  it.  How  you  tried  to, 
till  your  fingers  were  a'most  worn  away,  and  you 
hadn't  got  any  strength  left.  And  when  you 
couldn't  do  any  thing  else,  you  came  an'  cast 
yourself  'pon  the  blessed  Saviour,  an'  prayed 
him  to  do  it  all  for  you.  Then  when  you  trusted 
him  like  that  your  load  fell  off,  and  you  won- 
dered you  hadn't  come  to  him  long,  long  before. 
And  so  'tis  again  here,  dear  friends.  Wevvant  to 
be  saved  clean  out  of  our  sins,  an'  right  out  of  our 
failin's,  an'  right  up  out  of  our  ownselves.  Well, 
we  been  tryin'  to  do  it,  and  we  can't ;  and  now 


On   Two  Ways  to  Heaven.  171 

shall  we  give  it  all  up  in  despair  ?  No,  no,  we 
wont  let  the  devil  get  the  upper  hand  of  us  like 
that  there.  We  do  every  one  of  us  know  too 
much  about  the  dear  Lord  to  do  that.  Come, 
we'll  cast  ourselves  'pon  him,  an'  take  him  as  all 
that  our  hearts  are  a-longin'  after.  Our  Sav- 
iour from  all  sins  ;  our  Saviour  from  smnin  ; 
from  our  weaknesses,  an'  hinderances,  an*  fail- 
lin's  ;  accordin'  to  our  faith  it  shall  be  to  us  again, 
just  like  'twas  at  first. 

"  I  picked  up  a  lesson  down  to  Redburn  t'other 
day  that  I  shan't  forget  in  a  hurry ;  'twas  back 
in  the  winter.  They  had  a  soup-kitchen,  you 
know,  down  there.  An'  one  day  when  I  was 
comin'  along  I  saw  them  comin'  for  their  soup. 
There  was  the  boys  and  girls  with  their  mugs 
and  their  jugs,  and  in  amongst  them  came  up 
an  old  grandmother,  who  looked  as  if  she'd 
plenty  o'  little  hungry  mouths  at  home,  an*  she 
brought  a  great  big  pitcher.  I  waited  to  see  her 
come  out  again.  The  mugs  were  filled,  and  the 
jugs  were  filled  ;  so  I  says  to  myself,  '  I  wonder 
if  she'll  get  her  pitcher  full .? '  Yes,  there  it  was 
full  to  the  brim,  as  much  as  she  could  carry  with 
both  hands.  So  I  came  home  thinkin*  about  it. 
*  'Tis  a  lesson  for  thee,  Dan'el,'  I  says.     '  Why 


172  Daniel  Quorm. 

thou'rt  old  enough  to  learn  it,  too.  Thou  hast 
gone  up  to  thy  Lord's  store-house  with  a  mug, 
and  thou  might'st  ha'  gone  with  a  jug.  A  jug! 
yes,  thou  might'st  ha'  gone  with  a  pitcher  an'  it 
would  ha'  been  full.  An*  a  pitcher  needn't  ha' 
been  all.  If  thou  wilt  go  with  a  faith  so  big  as 
a  horse  an'  cart  thou  shalt  have  as  much  as  thou 
can'st  carry.'  Come,  my  friends,  let  us  have  a 
bigger  faith,  so  big  that  it  shall  come  to  take  the 
blessed  Lord  as  our  all  in  all,  fillin'  all  the  heart, 
an'  all  the  mind,  an'  all  the  house.  'Tis  too 
hard  for  us — but  according  to  our  faith  it  shall 
be  unto  us." 


071  Winning  Souls,  I73 


CHAPTER  XV. 

ON      WINNING      SOULS. 

QTRANGELY  enough,  it  was  Widow  Pascoe 
♦^   who  most  commonly  suggested   this  topic. 
Partly   by  the   selfishness  of   her    sentiments, 
partly  by  her  dismal   looks   and  tones,  but  still 
more  by  the  impression  that  all  about  her  made 
on  one's  mind.     Though  she  never  said  it  in  so 
many  words,  there  were  a  hundred  things  about 
her  that  kept  saying  it  over  and  over  again— 
"  The  Lord's  people  are  a  peculiar  people,  a  little 
flock.     You  only  know  that  the  way  leads  to 
heaven  if  a  very  few   there    be    that  find   it. 
Therefore  receive  all  new  comers  with  cold  sus- 
picion.    Most  likely  they  are  hypocrites,  and  if 
not,  they  will   probably  be  back  in  the  world 
again  in  a  month.     Keep  the  way  as  much  as 
you  possibly  can  to  yourself." 

In  her  thinking,  the  road  to  heaven  was  not 
only  as  gloomy  and  uncomfortable  as  you  could 
make  it,  but  it  was  walled  up  like  the  cities  of 
Anak ;  and  plenty  of  broken  glass  on  the  top 


1/4  Daniel  Quorm. 

of  the  walls  would  have  been  a  real  consolation 
to  her  mind.  She  would  have  had  the  entrance 
gate  covered  with  spikes,  and  surrounded  with 
notices  of  spring-guns  and  man-traps,  and  warn- 
ings that  trespassers  would  be  prosecuted  with 
the  utmost  rigor  of  the  law.  As  for  "  the  grave 
and  beautiful  damsel  named  Discretion,"  whom 
Pilgrim  found  at  the  gate,  Widow  Pascoe  would 
have  given  that  fair  maiden  "  notice,"  and  have 
improved  matters  very  much,  in  her  own  esti- 
mation, by  installing  herself  as  door-keeper. 
Dan'el  was  constantly  provoked  by  it  into  plain 
speaking,  and  nobody  else  in  the  class  had  a 
particle  of  sympathy  with  a  nature  so  ice-bound 
and  narrow.  But  that  was  Widow  Pascoe's 
comfort.  To  be  misunderstood,  to  find  that 
nobody  agreed  with  her,  to  have  no  encourage- 
ment and  no  sympathy,  was  "  a  good  time  "  to 
Widow  Pascoe  ;  all  this  was  the  most  satisfac- 
tory evidence  of  her  religion.  It  was  meal-time 
to  her  when  she  could  come  hither  and  dip  her 
parched  corn  in  the  vinegar — then  she  did  eat^ 
and  was  sufficed,  and  left. 

Dan'el  listened  with  a  sigh,  and  spoke  slowly 
and  sadly :  "  Well,  if  we  don't  take  care,  I'm 
'fraid  some  of  us  '11  never  get  to  heaven." 


On  Winning  Souls.  175 

This  was  threatening;  it  even  disturbed 
Widow  Pascoe's  composure  for  a  moment. 

Dan'el  continued,  as  if  explaining  what  had 
gone  before — "  Or  if  we  get  there,  it  wont  be 
like  the  Lord  Jesus  went.  You  remember  that 
Jesus  wouldn't  go  to  heaven  alone  ;  even  he 
took  a  soul  with  him,  and  said,  *  To-day  shalt 
thou  be  with  me  in  Paradise'  An'  the  only  safe 
way  for  us  is  to  go  like  the  blessed  Master 
went." 

Another  pause  followed,  in  which  the  little 
eye  regained  its  humorous  expression,  and  a 
ripple  of  playful  roguishness  came  over  Dan'el's 

face. 

"  You  know,  my  dear  sister,  you'll  never  get 
any  body  to  go  along  such  a  dismal  old  road  as 
you  make  of  it,  never.  An'  what'll  you  do  if 
you  get  up  to  the  golden  gate  all  by  yourself } 
You  know  the  Lord  wouldn't  let  the  beasts  go 
into  the  ark  one  by  one — not  even  the  unclean 
beasts  ;  not  a  cat  or  a  dog  could  go  in  by  itself. 
An'  if  'tis  any  thing  like  that,  what  will  folks 
do  who've  never  got  a  soul  to  go  to  heaven  with 
*em.  Besides,  it  would  be  a'most  impudence  to 
knock  to  the  door  an'  ask  the  glorious  great 
archangel  to  open  it  just  to  let  in  one.     When 


176  Daniel  Quorm. 

I  was  up  to  E once,  I  went  in  to  see  the 

Cathedral ;  and  the  man  came  up  with  a  bunch 
o'  big  keys,  and  says  he,  *  You  must  wait  a  bit  till 
somebody  else  come,  for  we  don't  show  it  to  less 
than  two  at  a  time — it  ben't  worth  while.*  An' 
then  when  there  was  two  of  us,  he  opened  all 
the  doors,  an'  took  us  upon  top  o'  the  tower, 
and  showed  us  about  every- where  Now  seems 
to  me  'twould  serve  us  'zactly  right  if  we  was 
to  go  up  an'  knock  to  the  golden  gate  o'  the 
Celestial  city,  and  the  archangel  was  to  say, 
*  You  should  ha'  found  somebody  else  to  come 
in  with  'e,' — an'  if  he  was  to  keep  us  waitin'  out- 
side till  somebody  else  come  up. 

"  An'  it  isn't  a  matter  that  we  can  please  our- 
selves about  either.  The  Lord  Jesus  tells  us 
that  we  are  the  lights  of  the  world,  an'  if  that 
do  mean  any  thing  at  all,  it  do  mean  that  some- 
where somebody  in  the  world  is  bein'  cheered 
an'  guided  and  helped  to  see  things  out  there 
in  the  dark,  by  what  we  are  a  doin'  of,  or  by 
how  we  are  livin'.  And  the  Lord  tells  us  that 
we  are  the  salt  d  the  earth.  An'  if  we  are  not 
helpin'  to  keep  some  soul  sweet  an*  clean,  an'  to 
preserve  it  unto  everlastin'  life,  why  I  can't  see 
much  difference  between  that  an'  salt  that  has 


On  Winning  Souls.  177 

lost  its  savor ;  one  doesn't  do  any  good,  and  the 
other  is  good  for  nothing.  And  like  every  thing 
else  in  God's  world  that  is  good  for  nothing,  it 
shall  be  cast  forth  and  '  trodden  under  foot.' 

"  Why,  I  meet  lots  o'  the  Lord's  people  who 
think  it  don't  matter  a  bit  how  they  let  their 
lights  shine,  so  long  as  they  shine  somehow. 
Some  of  'em  '11  flash  it  out  and  frighten  any 
body  with  it,  like  the  glare  of  a  policeman's 
bull's  eye.  I  can  mind  an  old  gentleman  who 
used  to  come  to  see  my  father  :  he'd  take  hold 
o'  me  by  the  collar  o'  my  coat  an'  frown  at  me, 
an'  say  in  a  great  gruff  voice,  *  Now  be  a  good 
boy  and  do  what  you're  told,  or  you'll  go  to  the 
devil.'  That  never  did  me  any  good  ;  I  don't 
believe  it  would  do  any  body  any  good.  And 
then  there  are  others  of  'em — why  you  might 
think  they  had  to  pay  for  it,  an'  was  always 
afeared  o'  wastin'  the  gas.  They'll  turn  it  up 
'pon  a  Sunday  an'  'pon  the  prayer-meetin'  night, 
an'  they'll  have  ever  so  big  a  glare  then ;  but 
so  soon  as  ever  they  do  get  home,  they'll  turn 
it  down  so  low  that  the  children  an'  the  neigh- 
bors think  it  be  gone  out  altogether.  Now 
seems  to  me  the  only  kind  o'  light  that'll  do  the 
world  any  good  is   a  burniit    light — 'aburnin' 


178  Daniel  Quorm. 

an'  a  shinin'  light'  Some  folks  be  like  glow- 
worms, that  shine  without  burnin' ;  but  they 
wont  do  much  good.  We  must  burn,  friends, 
hum,  an'  then  we  shall  shine.  Let's  long  to 
win  souls,  an'  feel  the  longin'  burnin'  in  us,  an* 
then  we  shall  do  it.  Only  let  our  hearts  catch 
fire,  then  the  world  '11  see  the  light  an'  feel  the 
warmth,  an'  some  poor  perishin'  mortal  or  other 
'11  be  sure  to  come  up  to  get  a  bit  o'  life.  But 
if  we  don't  burn,  we  shan't  shine  much.  That 
be  the  only  kind  o'  light  that's  worth  any  thing, 
*  a  burnin  and  a  shinin'  light.' 

"  An'  the  beauty  of  it  is,  that  every  one  of 
us  can  do  it,  whether  we  get  one  talent  or 
whether  we  get  two.  Furze  bushes  and  bram- 
bles ben't  no  good  for  buildin'  o'  the  Lord's 
house — you  must  have  great  cedars  o'  Lebanon 
for  that — nor  yet  for  a  makin'  the  furniture  out 
of ;  but  set  'em  a  fire,  an'  they  '11  light  up  the 
country  for  miles  an'  miles.  Never  mind  though 
you  be  reckoned  nothin'  in  God's  world  but 
reeds  an'  rubbish,  you  can  burn  so  as  to  give 
light  in  the  dark.  Dear  old  granny  here  can't 
do  much,  but  'pon  a  dark  night  she  can  begin 
to  think  about  the  folks  that  have  got  to  come 
across  the  moors,  an'  that  may  be  strayin'  away 


On    Winning  Sottls.  179 

an'  gettin'  down  some  old  shaft  or  other ;  an 
she  can  tell  'em  to  sweep  up  the  hearth  an'  get 
a  nice  bright  fire  an'  to  pull  up  the  blind,  an'  let 
the  candle  shine  right  out  'pon  the  road.  Some- 
body '11  be  guided  a  bit,  and  get  a  bit  o'  warmth 
an'  cheerfulness  out  there  in  the  dark.  An  I 
often  think  about  it  when  I  rake  out  my  fire 
just  afore  goin'  to  bed.  This  here  fire  do  burn 
away  like  that,  and  come  to  nothing  but  ashes  ; 
but  they  that  begin  to  burn  an'  shine,  tryin'  to 
'  turn  many  to  righteonsnessl  shall  never  got  out 
— they  shall  shine  like  the  '  stars  for  ever  arid 
ever'  'Tisn't  enough  to  be  called  the  light  o' 
the  world  an'  the  salt  o'  the  earth,  my  friends. 
We  must  set  about  it  in  the  right  way  to  do  it. 
Folks  may  be  the  salt  o'  the  earth;  but  they 
wont  do  much  good  if  they  come  to  you  with  a 
great  mouthful  of  it  that'll  be  a  sickener  for 
many  a  day,  an'  perhaps  spoil  your  relish  for  it 
altogether.  There's  lots  o'  people  who  want  to 
save  souls,  but  'tis  *  they  that  be  wise'  that  '  shall 
shine  as  the  brightness  of  the  firmament' 

"  Now  seems  to  me  that  the  first  thing  is  to  set 
ourselves  to  do  it.     'Tis  just  like  every  thing 
else — it  wants  doin'.     It  wont  do  it  to  be  always 
talkin'  about  it,  an'  desirin'  it,  an'  prayin'  that . 
12 


i8o  Daniel  Quorm. 

we  may  be  useful.  We  must  get  up  and  do  it. 
Simon  said,  'I go  a-fisJmi!  An'  he  might  have 
talked  about  it  and  prayed  about  it  all  his  life  ; 
he  never  would  have  caught  any  thing  till  he 
went.  We  keep  sayin',  '  Dear  brethren,  let  us 
go  a-fishin';'  or,  'You  know  we  really  must  go 
a-fishin'.  We  talk  of  how  very  right  an'  proper 
it  is,  an'  how  we  desire  to  do  it,  an'  we  go  pray- 
in'  that  we  may  be  stirred  up  to  go  a-fishin'. 
But  Simon  gets  out  his  bait-box,  an'  his  cross- 
lines,  an'  he  shoulders  the  oars,  an'  he  shoves 
off  the  boat,  an'  settling  down  he  calls  out  to 
the  rest  of  'em,  *  I  go  a-fishin^  Then  the  rest, 
who  perhaps  had  been  talkin'  about  it,  shoved 
off  their  boats  too,  an'  said,  '  We  also  go  with 
thee'  An'  that's  the  way  in  fishin'  for  souls, 
you  must  set  about  it.  Why,  we  stand  in  on 
the  shore  loungin'  about  the  quay  with  our 
hands  in  our  pockets,  thinkin'  that  if  the  fish 
are  to  be  caught  the  Lord  will  send  'em  to  us. 
If  we  want  them  we  must  go  a-fishing. 

"  And  then  there's  another  thing  I  like  about 
Simon— //^  didnt  mind goin  alone.  I'm  'afraid 
a  good  many  of  us  would  have  seen  Simon  goin' 
out  in  his  boat,  an'  never  have  said  what  the 
•rest  did.     We  should  have  kept  our  hands  in 


On    Winning  Souls.  i8i 

our  pockets,  and  have  said,  'Quite  right  an* 
proper :  he's  called  to  the  work  ; '  or  we  would 
have  said,  '  O,  he's  a  leader ;  he  ought  to  go !  * 
or  we  should  have  said,  'There  goes  Simon 
again  :  what  a  gift  he  has  got  for  it ! '  Pack  o' 
stuff  an'  nonsense.  A  gift  for  it !  Why  he  had 
a  hook  an*  a  Hue  an'  a  bit  o'  bait ;  and  so  he 
went  out  to  do  what  he  could.  That  was  his 
gift  for  it,  and  that  was  his  callin,  too.  I  want 
for  every  one  of  us  to  say,  '  I go^ 

*•  I  was  down  to  St.  Ives  once  when  the  pil- 
chards were  about,  and  the  man  that  was  on 
the  look-out  up  on  top  o'  the  cliffs  saw  the 
school  of  pilchards  a-rufflin'  the  water,  so  he 
puts  up  a  great  speakin'  trumpet  to  his  mouth, 
and  holloas  out  so  loud  as  ever  he  could,  '  Heva, 
heva,  heva!  All  the  people  knew  what  he 
meant,  and  the  place  was  all  in  a  stir  in  a  min- 
ute. The  big  boats  put  up  sail,  and  went  out 
to  shoot  their  nets ;  and  then  when  they'd  got 
'em  all  shut  in  every  body  got  in  a  boat  and 
pulled  out  to  lend  a  hand,  an'  the  water  was  all 
covered  with  boats.  Every  body  went  a-fishin* 
then.  Now  that's  just  like  'tis  when  the  Lord 
sends  a  great  revival,  and  every  body  wakes  up 
an'  goes  a-fishin'.     But  la !  my  friends,  there  be 


i82  Daniel  Quorm. 

fish  in  the  sea  all  the  year  round.  There's 
souls  to  be  caught  all  the  year  round :  summer 
an'  winter  ;  hot  or  cold  ;  rain  or  fine.  'Tis  never 
too  rough  to  put  your  boat  off  to  catch  souls, 
an'  'tis  never  too  calm.  Don't  let  us  wait  till  we 
can  go  out  with  the  great  nets ;  we  can  always 
go  hookin',  catchin'  'em  one  by  one.  Every  one 
of  us  can  catch  a  soul  here  an'  there  if  we  only 
try.  I  do  dearly  love  that  ^ I  go :'  like  as  if  he 
said,  *  You  others  may  please  yourselves,  but  as 
for  me,  I'm  off.' 

"There's  something  about  Andrew,  too,  that 
is  almost  as  good  as  what  Peter  said.  '  He  first 
findeth  his  own  brother  Simon'  Now  I'm  sure 
that  'tis  a  good  plan  for  to  go  looking  after  one 
soul.  Any  thing  is  fair  play,  I  do  count,  'pon 
the  devil's  ground.  Every  soul  in  the  world  do 
belong  to  our  Lord.  He  made  'em  every  one, 
and  he  bought  'em  every  one  with  his  precious 
blood.  They're  his  every  way,  and  the  devil  is 
a  thief.  I've  very  often  thought  o'  what  a  pooi 
master  the  devil's  servants  have  got.  Why, 
when  he  came  up  to  tempt  our  mother  Eve  in 
Paradise  he  hadn't  got  any  bit  o'  a  little  thing 
for  to  bribe  her  with,  an'  all  he  could  do  was  to 
tempt   her  to    steal  her   Master's  apj^les.     He 


On   Winnmg  Souls,  183 

haven't  got  any  thing  at  all  of  his  own,  an'  I  am 
sure  he  ha' n't  got  any  souls  belongin'  to  him. 
So  I  think  'tis  quite  fair  to  go  catchin'  souls 
any  way  you  have  got  a  mind  to,  an'  whichever 
way  you  can.  He  isn't  so  very  partic'lar  about 
it,  his  own  self  ;  he's  always  a-comin'  up  poach- 
in'  'pon  our  preserves,  so  bold  as  a  lion ;  an'  I 
don't  see  why  we  should  mind  how  we  can  get 
back  the  souls  that  he  has  stolen,  so  long  as  we 
can  get  'em  back  somehow. 

*'  I  can  mind  when  I  was  a  boy  seein'  the 
big  folks  come  up  to  Carwinnin'  with  their  fine 
rods  an'  lines  an'  wonderful  turn  out,  an'  they'd 
go  all  day  an'  never  catch  a  fish.  But  we  boys 
would  see  a  fish  go  dartin'  in  under  a  stone: 
then  we  should  get  in  an'  go  gropin'  round  the 
stone  an'  catch  'em  like  that.  Well,  I  b'lieve  in 
gropin'  for  souls.  And  seemin'  to  me  that  An- 
drew did  too.  He  didn't  say  '  I'll  try  to  do  all 
the  good  I  can,'  and  then  do  nothing  because  he 
couldn't  find  any  to  do.  But  he  says, '  There's 
Simon.  I  'U  go  an'  catch  him.'  That's  the  way. 
Pick  out  one  soul,  an'  set  your  heart  'pon  it — 
begin  to  pray  for  that  one  an'  try  to  catch  that 
one,  an'  go  on  tryin'  till  you've  got  it ;  an'  then 
try  for  another.     We  might  do  a  great  deal  o* 


184  Daniel  Quorm. 

good  in  the  world  if  we  didn't  try  to  do  so 
much.  I've  heard  folks  a-singin', — an  meaning 
it,  too — 

'  Were  the  whole  realm  of  nature  mine, 
That  were  a  present  far  too  small ; ' 

an'  because  the  '  realm  o'  nature '  wasn't  theirs, 
they  didn't  give  any  thing  at  all.  But  if  they 
said,  *  I've  got  five-an'-twenty  shillin'  a  week, 
how  much  can  I  manage  to  screw  out  o'  that,' 
then  they'd  have  done  something.  An'  that's 
the  way  with  folks  who  want  to  go  catchin' 
souls.     They'll  sing — 

*  O  that  the  world  might  taste  and  see 
The  riches  of  his  grace  ! ' 

they  want  to  convert  the  world,  but  because 
they  can't  do  that,  they  wont  try  to  save  their 
next-door  neighbor. 

"  Now  all  that's  cured  if  we'll  just  pick  out 
one  soul  an'  try  to  catch  that.  Let  us  do  it,  my 
friends.  Let  us  begin  this  very  day.  There's 
somebody  in  your  family,  or  there's  a  neighbor 
o'  yours,  or  there's  somebody  that  works  up  to 
your  mine,  or  there's  somebody  that  you  often 
meet  with  goin'  along  your  road.  Pick  out  that 
one  an'  say,  *  Now,  the  Lord  helpin'  me,  I'll  try 
an'  catch  that  there  soul.'    Pray  that  the  Lord  '11 


On    Winning  Souls.  185 

give  you  a  chance  o'  getting  at  'em,  an'  keep  on 
prayin',  an'  when  you  get  the  chance  make  a 
down-right  good  use  of  it.  There  isn't  a  door 
in  this  world  but  prayer '11  batter  it  down,  if 
you  keep  hard  at  it.  Bolts  an'  bars  haven't  got 
a  chance  against  prayer.  It  can  pick  a  lock  that 
a  London  sharper  couldn't  do  any  thing  with. 
Great  gates  an'  draw-bridges,  like  them  down  to 
Pendennis  Castle,  can't  help  themselves  against 
it.  Only  pray  in  downright  earnest;  an'  the 
door  '11  open  before  long,  an'  then,  when  'tis 
open,  go  in  an'  take  possession  in  the  name  o' 
the  King  of  kings".  Depend  'pon  it  that's  huw 
the  world  has  got  to  be  converted.  Every  body 
who  loves  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  must  try,  for 
his  sake,  to  win  somebody  else,  and  must  stick 
to  it  till  they  do. 

"Then  there's  just  one  thing  more  about  this 
catchin'  souls.  *  Tis  a  most  as  good  for  ourselves 
as  'tis  for  those  we  try  to  save.  There's  nothing 
else,  I  believe,  that  '11  make  a  man  so  watchful 
an'  so  careful  about  all  he  says  an'  does  as  this 
will.  When  I  used  to  go  fishin'  with  a  rod  and 
line  an'  caught  sight  of  a  big  fish  under  the  bank, 
why  I  could  keep  still  as  a  mouse  for  half  a  day. 
Other  times  \Ye  might  run  about  on  the  bank, 


1 86  Daniel  Quorm. 

an'  jump  about  as  much  as  we  liked.  But  now 
a  shadow  mustn't  fall  upon  the  water;  there 
mustn't  be  a  sound ;  only  just  lettin'  the  bait 
drop  in,  so  gentle  and  quiet.  Ah,  you  go  an' 
try  to  catch  a  soul  if  you  want  to  be  watchful ! 
No  hasty  words  then ;  that  would  scare  the 
soul  away  in  a  minute.  No  bit  o'  quick  temper 
or  angry  ways  ;  that  would  spoil  it  all. 

"  Pick  out  your  soul,  an'  begin  to  pray  for  it ; 
set  to  work  to  catch  it,  an'  we  shall  do  it.  Only 
set  to  work  the  right  way.  It  isn't  those  who 
try,  but  those  who  try  the  right  way — the  wise — 
that  shall  shine  as  the  stars.  An'  as  for  wis- 
dom, for  all  it  is  the  rarest  thing  in  the  world, 
bless  the  Lord,  we  can  get  so  much  of  it  as  ever 
we  mind  to,  and  all  for  nothing.  '  If  any  of 
you* — never  mind  how  dull  a  scholar  he  is,  or 
how  big  a  fool — *  if  any  of  you  lack  wisdom,  let 
him  ask  of  God,  that  giveth  to  all  men  liberally, 
and  upbraideth  not ;  and  it  shall  be  given  him.* 
So  let  us  all  say  as  Simon  did,  an'  mean  it  too, 
by  the  Lord's  help,  '  I  go  a-fishiii!" 


On  Hearing  the   Word,  187 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

ON     HEARING    THE    WORD. 

I'VE  heard  folks  say,  *  The  child's  the  father 
o'  the  man,'  and  there's  more  truth  in  that 
than  there  is  in  a  good  many  things  that  folks 
say.  Now  I've  been  a-thinkin'  that  Sunday  is  the 
father  o'  the  week — the  rest  0'  the  week  '11  take 
after  the  Sunday,  an'  if  anybody  wants  to  have 
a  good  week  let  'em  try  to  get  a  good  Sunday. 

"  I  don't  know  how  'tis  with  you,  friends,  but 
I'm  just  like  the  old  clock  that's  home  to  my 
place — I'm  a  sort  o'  machine  that  wants  windin' 
up  once  a  week,  an'  if  I  don't  get  wound  up  'pon 
a  Sunday  I'm  run  down  all  the  week.  I've  seen 
the  farmers  down  to  Redburn  'pon  the  market 
day  pullin'  out  their  watches  an'  settin'  'em  by 
the  old  church  clock,  turnin'  the  hands  a  bit  for- 
ward or  a  bit  backward.  But  it  isn't  a  bit  o' 
good  settin'  'em  right  if  they  forget  to  wind  'em 
up.  Now  I  believe  there's  lots  o'  folks  that  '11 
come  to  the  house  of  God  'pon  a  Sunday  an' 
they'll  set  their  feelings  right ;  they'll  get  very 


i88  Daniel  Quorm. 

nice  and  religious  for  a  bit,  an'  be  all  so  good 
an'  perfect  just  then ;  but  they  don't  get  wound 
up  at  all,  so  they  don't  go  on  bein'  right,  and  as 
soon  as  they  come  out  they're  just  as  wrong  as 
ever,  Sunday,  if  'tis  what  it  ought  to  be,  is  a 
kind  o'  windin'-up  day. 

"  I  like  to  think  that  'tis  the  first  day  o'  the 
week  ;  an'  depend  'pon  it,  my  friends,  there's 
a  deal  depends  'pon  the  beginning  o'  things. 
Folks  say  sometimes, '  All's  well  that  ends  well ;  * 
and  they  patch  up  all  kinds  of  ugly  old  sores 
with  that  plaster.  I  don't  believe  it  one  bit.  If 
a  thing  don't  begin  well  and  go  on  well  'tisn't  all 
well  whatever  kind  of  endin'  it  has.  I  s'pose 
the  penitent  thief  ended  well — he  went  to  heav- 
en ;  but  that  didn't  pay  back  what  he  had 
stolen,  and  it  didn't  mend  all  the  harm  he'd 
done.  I'd  rather  have  the  'well'  at  the  other 
end  too  ;  I  would.  There'd  be  some  truth  if 
folks  said,  '  Well-  begun  is  half  well  done.'  If 
you've  got  a  good  Sunday  you've  got  half  a  good 
week,  I  reckon.  The  old  Sabbath  o'  the  Jews 
was  'pon  the  last  day  o'  the  week,  like  as  if  they 
couldn't  anyhow  keep  the  law,  an*  so  they 
finished  up  the  week  with  all  their  sacrifices 
an'  prayers.     But  now  we  Christians  have  got  s. 


On  Hearing  the   Word.  189 

Saviour  whose  name  is  called  Jesus  because  he 
can  ^  save  his  people  from  their  sins!  An'  so  we 
come  up  *pon  the  first  day  o'  the  week  to  get 
help  an'  strength  to  go  through  it  all  right — 
like  as  if  we  took  hold  o'  that  blessed  One  who 
is  able  to  keep  us  from  falling. 

"  Now  good  Sundays,  like  every  thing  else 
that  is  good,  don't  come  o'  their  own  accord. 
'Tis  only  weeds  an'  crabs  an'  bramble-bushes 
that  '11  grow  if  you  let  things  alone.  If  you 
want  fine  flowers  an'  fruits  you  must  dig  an' 
plant  an'  work  for  'em  ;  and  nobody  is  fool 
enough  to  expect  'em  without.  But  in  religion 
folks  are  fools  enough  a'most  for  any  thing,  an* 
expect  to  pick  up  pearls  o'  great  price  without 
divin'  for  'em,  an'  to  get  fat  without  eatin'  any 
thing.  Good  Sundays  don't  come  anyhow  ;  they 
are  things  that  are  made.  An'  every  man  has 
got  to  make  his  own.  You  can't  order  em 
ready-made  0'  the  preacher. 

"  I  reckon  that's  very  much  o'  what  the  Lord 
Jesus  meant  when  he  said,  ^Take  heed  how  ye 
hear!  Whatever  it  means,  an'  whatever  it  don't 
mean,  it  means  this  plain  enough — Dorit  hear 
anyhow.  You  see  that  was  the  way  with  the 
ground  that  didn't  prosper  —  it  took  the  seed 


190    .  Daniel  Quorm. 

anyhow.  There  was  the  way-side  ;  it  let  the 
seed  come  just  as  it  could,  and  o'  course  it  all 
got  trodden  underfoot  or  was  eaten  up  by  the 
fowls,  an'  not  a  grain  was  left.  An'  then  I  dare- 
say Brother  Way-side  went  complainin'  that  he 
couldn't  get  any  good  under  that  preacher. 
There  was  the  weedy-ground,  too,  let  it  fall  in 
anyhow  among  the  thorns  an'  thistles,  an'  they 
grew  up  an'  choked  it.  An'  I  shouldn't  wonder 
but  Sister  Weedy-ground  whispered  to  Brother 
Way-side  very  piously,  that  for  her  part  she  did 
wish  they  had  a  preacher  that  would  stir  them 
up.  Then  there  was  Mister  Stony-ground,  who 
liked  it  very  much,  an'  nodded  to  every  body 
over  the  nice  sermon  ;  but  when  the  sun  was  up, 
that  is,  when  dinner-time  came,  he  could  hardly 
remember  the  text.  They  all  heard  :  but  they 
were  anyhow  hearers.  But  there  was  dear  old 
Father  Good-ground,  whenever  he  heard  the 
word  it  got  in,  an'  went  down,  an'  took  root,  and 
sprang  up,  an'  bare  fruit,  an'  brought  forth  a 
hundred  fold — such  wonderful  crops  o'  love  an' 
joy  an'  peace  that  set  all  the  folks  a-scratchin* 
their  heads  however  he  could  manage" it!  Yet 
it  was  no  such  great  secret ;  he  got  ready  before-^ 
hand — that  was  all.     He  prepared  for  the  seed. 


On  Hearing  the   Word.  191 

He'd  have  been  weedy-ground,  too,  only  he  had 
oeen  down  on  his  knees  an'  pulled  up  the  chok- 
in'  cares  an'  Saturday's  worries  ;  he  had  picked 
out  the  stones,  an'  had  plowed  up  the  field, 
an'  had  given  the  seed  a  chance,  that  was  all, 
an*  so  he  got  a  harvest.  You  see  there  was  the 
same  Sower,  an'  the  same  seed,  an'  yet  it  was 
only  the  ground  that  was  got  ready  beforehand 
that  got  any  good. 

"  So,  friends,  if  we  don't  take  heed  about  it  we 
shall  be  one  o'  these  anyhow  hearers.  Ah !  I'm 
'fraid  I  shall  hold  up  the  lookin'-glass  to  a  good 
many  if  I  begin  to  tell  what  he's  like.  Well,  he 
begins  the  Sunday  an  hour  later  than  any  other 
day,  because  'tis  the  Lord's  day.  Other  days  are 
his  own,  an'  he  would  be  ashamed  to  take  an 
hour  out  o'  them  ;  but  the  Lord's  day  he  may 
do  what  he  likes  with,  because  it  isn't  his  own. 
Then  'tis  all  a  scramble  to  dress  an'  have  break- 
fast an'  be  off  to  chapel.  He  comes  along  won- 
derin'  if  he's  very  late.  If  he  were  in  time  be 
might  wonder,  for  every  body  else  would.  Or 
perhaps  he  has  got  too  hardened  to  mind  that, 
so  he  comes  along  thinkin'  o'  nothing  in  partic- 
ular. Then  he  gets  into  his  place  ready  to 
listen,  if  the  preacher  can  get  his  attention,  but 


192  Daniel  Quorm. 

just  so  ready  to  dream  away  half  an  hour — that 
is,  if  he  don't  sleep  it  away — or  else  lettin'  his 
eyes  go  flittin'  over  the  house  o'  God,  pitchin* 
here  an'  there  for  a  minute,  an'  then  off  again 
like  a  butterfly.  I  often  meet  him  when  I'm 
goin'  home,  an'  he'll  sigh  as  if  he  ought  to  be 
pitied  more  than  scolded  about  it,  an'  complain 
that  he  was  so  troubled  with  wanderin'  thoughts. 
Why  o*  course  he  was — what  else  could  he  ex- 
pect ?  That,  or  something  else,  would  be  sure 
to  spoil  all  the  good,  for  he  had  not  taken  any 
heed  about  it.  His  mind  was  all  full  o'  thorns 
an'  thistles — how  could  he  expect  to  gather 
grapes  an'  figs  ? 

"  I  really  can't  abide  to  hear  folks  talk  about 
it  as  they  do.  '  Ah,'  they  say,  '  it's  natural,  you 
know,  for  me  to  be  so  anxious.'  Or  else  it  is, 
*  I  really  am  so  wearied,  and  you  must  make 
allowances  for  dispositions  an'  folks'  nature.* 
Pooh !  nature  an'  natural !  Why,  if  it  hadn't 
been  natural  to  hear  anyhow,  the  Lord  would 
never  nave  told  us  to  take  heed.  A  gentleman 
comes  up  to  his  gardener  expectin'  a  pretty 
show  o'  flowers  an'  fruits,  but  he  finds  the  place 
all  covered  over  with  weeds  an'  things.  An'  so 
soon  as  ever  he  begins  to  talk  to  the  gardener 


On  Hearing  the  Word.  193 

ibout  it  the  man  sets  off  sigbin* — '  Please,  sir, 
tis  quite  natural  for  it  to  be  so,  and  you  must 
make  allowances  for  nature.'  Then  the  master 
can't  stand  it  any  longer — 'twas  bad  enough  be- 
fore, but  this  is  too  bad.  '  Natural ; '  he  says,  'o' 
course  'tis  natural.  And  just  because  it  wouldn't 
go  right  of  its  own  self,  I  put  you  to  look  after 
it.'  Friends,  things  wont  come  right  without 
being  made  to  ;  an'  we  must  make  'em  to,  or 
else  we  shall  find  ourselves  out  in  the  darkness, 
with  the  rest  o'  the  wicked  and  unprofitable 
servants.  O'  course,  there'd  be  things  the  gar- 
dener couldn't  help !  blight  an'  frost  an  drought ; 
an'  old  an'  tired  folks  '11  go  to  sleep,  specially  if 
the  preachers  help  'em  to.  If  folks  sleep  when 
I'm  a  preachin'  I  say  to  myself,  '  Come,  Dan'el, 
wake  up  ; '  for  if  the  man  in  the  pulpit  is  asleep, 
they  in  the  pews  '11  soon  follow. 

"  But  for  all  that,  there  are  things  we  can  do, 
an'  we  must.  I  do  believe  the  first  thing  is  this 
here.  Come  in  time.  Do  you  remember  what  is 
wrote  down  in  the  Gospel  o'  Luke,  in  the  eighth 
chapter  an'  the  fortieth  verse  t  There's  a  secret 
for  hearin'  well.  '  The  people  gladly  received 
him  :  for  they  are  all  waiting  for  him.'  That's 
it ;  •  they  were  all  waitin'  for  him.'     They  didn  t 


194  Daniel  Quorm. 

come  rushin'  in  after  he  had  come,  makin'  every 
body  lose  a  word  or  two  while  they  turned 
round  to  see  who  it  was,  an'  distractin'  the  mind 
o'  that  blessed  Preacher.  That's  the  first  '  take 
heed,'  if  you  want  to  hear  well :  take  heed  an' 
come  in  time.  If  you  come  in  after  they've  be- 
gun to  sing,  you'll  be  like  John  Trundle  when 
he's  late  with  his  fiddle ;  he's  too  late  to  screw 
it  an'  scrape  it  into  tune  with  the  rest,  so  'tis  all 
flat  an'  dismal  all  through  the  service,  and  puts 
every  body  else  out  o'  tune  too.  O'  course  you 
wouldn't  come  in  durin'  prayer ;  that's  a  real 
sin,  I  do  count — when  all  the  rest  is  tryin'  to 
lift  their  thoughts  up  to  Heaven,  for  somebody  to 
come  in  a-draggin'  'em  all  down  to  earth  again, 
an'  makin'  'em  forget  the  King  o'  glory  for  to 
open  their  eyes  an*  see  who  'tis  come  patterin* 
into  the  place  !  If  the  devil  was  to  come  to  the 
chapel,  (an'  I  b'lieve  he  do  come  now  an'  then,) 
I'm  sure  he'd  come  in  while  they  were  prayin,' 
an'  he'd  push  past  every  body  up  to  his  own 
corner,  an'  if  he  could  knock  over  a  hat  or  a 
pair  o'  pattens,  'twould  please  'en  all  the  more, 
"  I  don't  believe  in  forms  an'  ceremonies  ;  not 
a  bit.  A  little  bit  o'  heart  is  better  than  a  place 
full  o'  dead  forms,  though  you  sing  'em  lovely 


On  Hearing  the  Word.  195 

But  I'm  sure  our  Father  in  heaven  cares  for  the 

good  o'  things.     He  wouldn't  make  a  tree  good 

for  food  without  makin*  it  '  pleasant  to  the  eyes.* 

The  book  says,  *  Strength  and  beauty  are  in  his 

sanctuary.'     And  now  seems  to  me  like  as  if 

this  comin'  late  and  lookin'  all  about,  an'  hearin* 

anyhow,  is  a  sort  o'  chippin'  off  the  beauty  an' 

spoilin'  it  all.     An'  then  we  spoil  the  beauty  for 

ourselves  more  than  for  any  body  else.     Why, 

some  of  us,  my  friends,  would  think  that  it  was 

a  new  preacher  come,  if,  instead  o'  hurryin'  and 

scurryin'  up  to  chapel,   we'd  only  start    from 

home  a  quarter  of  an   hour   sooner,  an'  come 

along  the  road  a-thinkin'  about  the  Lord. 

"  Then  when  he  is  come  into  the  place,  let  a 

man  have  a  bit  o'  prayer  for  his  own  self,  and 

askin'  the  Lord  to  bless  the  preacher.     It  '11  do 

more  good  than  whisperin'  to  your  neighbor  or 

starin'  all  about  the  place.     When  I  got  a  cold 

in   my  head,  singin'  do  seem  to  be  all  out  o* 

tune,  an'  flowers  haven't  got  a  bit  o'  smell,  an' 

I  can't  taste  any  thing.     I  fancy  the  fault  is  in 

the  things  themselves  till  the  cold  is  gone  ;  then 

I  can  see  that  it  was  all  in  my  own-self.     Let 

us  only  take  heed  about  it,  an'  'tis  wonderful 

how  different  it  '11  be !     There's  a  fair  half  o' 
13 


ig6  Daniel  Quorm. 

right  hearin'  in  that  they  gladly  received  Him  ; 
for  they  were  all  waitin  for  him! 

"Another  'take  heed'  that  will  help  us  is 
this  :  Let  a  man  take  heed  that  he  hears  for  his 
own  sotil  an  for  his  own  good.  'Tisn't  much  to 
listen  just  to  see  how  the  preacher  will  manage 
his  text.  We've  come  to  get  a  blessing  from  the 
Lord.  I  was  reading  over  the  eighth  o'  Luke 
a  day  or  two  ago,  and  I  couldn't  help  thinkin* 
about  it — how  every  body  wanted  Jesus  for  his 
own  self!  And  how  they  all  wanted  him  differ- 
ent, each  for  his  own  case.  There  was  the  lit- 
tle boat  tossing  about  'pon  the  lake  in  the  dark  ; 
the  wind  howlin'  round  'em,  an'  the  waves  goin* 
hissin*  past  'em,  when  Jesus  comes,  and  in  a 
minute  he  quiets  winds  an'  waves  an'  their  fears 
too.  But  then  that  was  nothing  to  the  man 
who  had  a  legion  o'  devils  in  him.  They  were 
there  when  the  wind  blew  a  gale,  an'  when  it 
was  a  dead  calm.  So  Jesus  comes  to  speak  to 
him  an'  make  him  whole.  Then  over  the  other 
side,  Jairus's  little  maid  lay  a-dyin*,  an'  they 
can't  think  o'  storms,  or  any  thing  else  but  their 
own  trouble ;  and  he  besought  Jesus  to  come 
and  heal  his  little  daughter.  And  then  there 
was  the  poor  woman  who  was  full  of  her  own 


On  Hearing  the  Word.  197 

need,  and  kept  whisperin'  to  herself,  '  If  I  may 
but  touch  his  garment,  I  shall  be  whole  * — and 
she  put  forth  her  old  trembling  hand  to  take 
him  as  she  wanted. 

"  Now  that  is  'zactly  as  it  ought  to  be  when 
we  go  up  on  a  Sunday ;  every  body  must  take 
heed  an'  find  in  Jesus  what  they  want.  Bless 
his  dear  Name,  there's  love  for  every  body  in 
him  now,  just  so  much  as  there  was  then  !  And 
there's  help  for  every  want,  just  so  much  as  ever. 
That's  it,  let  a  man  come  up  a  sayin,'  *  Now  to- 
day I  must  get  the  Lord  to  strengthen  my  with- 
ered arm,  or  loose  my  tongue,  or  to  make  me 
clean.'  Let  them  that  have  been  worried  come 
up  a-thinkin',  *  Now  to-day,  whoever  else  is 
blest,  an'  whatever  else  anybody  may  get,  I 
want  to  cast  all  my  care  'pon  the  Lord,  and  to 
get  a  fresh  stock  o'  patience  an'  quiet  trust.* 
Why  a  man  can't  help  havin'  a  good  Sunday 
when  he  hears  about  Jesus,  and  he  begins  to 
take  hold  o'  his  blessed  Lord  all  for  his  own- 
self  Let  us  come  up  seekin'  Jesus  just  as  we 
need  him.  I  believe  one  reason  why  the  sick 
people  had  so  much  faith  to  be  healed  was  be- 
cause they  knew  exactly  what  they  wanted,  an* 
because  they  wanted  it  with  all  their  heart.    And 


igS  Daniel  Quorm. 

if  folks  would  set  themselves  askin'  for  a  bit, 
*  Now  this  mornin'  what  rlo  I  want  Jesus  to  do 
for  me  ? '  an'  if  they  wanted  it  with  all  their 
hearts,  we  shouldn't  have  a  dull  Sunday  very 
often.  They'd  find  Jesus  with  the  loaves  an' 
fishes  even  when  it  was  a  desert  place,  and 
when  the  poor  preacher  could  give  them  noth- 
ing to  eat. 

"  There  is  another  '  take  heed  '  that  we  must 
all  look  after :  Take  heed  ari  beware  d  the  fowls. 
There's  all  sorts  an'  sizes.  There's  times  when 
one  kind  do  mischief,  and  there's  times  when 
another  kind  come  plaguin'  us.  You  know 
there's  some  that  follow  the  sower  while  he  is 
sowin',  close  to  his  heels — pigeons,  an'  spar- 
rows ;  an'  a  little  farther  back  the  rooks  are 
busy,  eatin'  up  the  seed  a'most  before  'tis  sown. 
Ah,  we  must  beware  o'  these !  Like  when 
Abraham  was  bringin'  his  sacrifice  before  God, 
they  come  down  upon  our  service,  an'  we  must 
drive  them  away. 

"  Small  birds  do  every  bit  so  much  mischief 
as  any  !  Busy  little  things  !  they  spoil  many  a 
good  sermon.  There  are  lots  o'  folks,  if  they 
can  only  light  upon  a  word  or  a  thought  of  the 
preacher's  that  they  don't  quite  agree  with,  or 


On  Hearing  the  Word.  199 

that  isn't  quite  right,  all  the  good  is  eaten  up 
in  a  moment.  All  they  think  of  is  nothing 
but  that,  an'  they'll  go  talkin'  about  it  more 
than  all  the  good  things  put  together.  Now 
this  is  worse  than  the  fowls,  for  they  never  do 
like  that.  They  '11  scrape  over  a  bushel  o'  dirt 
to  find  a  grain  0'  corn,  but  these  people  '11  fling 
away  a  bushel  o'  good  seed  if  they  can  but  find 
a  bit  o'  grit ;  an'  they  '11  hold  it  up  an'  show  to 
every  body,  an'  crow  over  it  like  a  young  bantam 
that's  just  a-feehn'  his  spurs.  Other  folks  can't 
get  any  good  if  the  preacher's  manner  isn't  up 
to  the  latest  fashion.  But  'tis  a  sure  sign  o' 
weakness  and  bad  health  when  folks  are  so 
dainty  about  their  meat  that  their  appetite's  up- 
set by  the  pattern  o*  the  plates  an'  dishes. 

"Then  there's  other  fowls  that  come  when 
the  sower  is  gone.  Fowls  by  the  way-side ; 
fowls  out  in  the  streets  and  on  the  way  home. 
The  Egyptian  baker  dreamt  that  the  fowls  eat 
the  baked  meats  off  his  head  as  he  went  along. 
Now,  if  he  had  gone  loitering  along,  hangin* 
about  for  a  word  with  every  body,  folks  might 
have  called  him  a  nice  friendly  fellow,  but  I 
don't  wonder  that  his  master  hanged  him  for  a 
bad  baker.     And  we  sha  n't  carry  much  o'  the 


JOO  Daniel  Quorm. 

baked  meats  home  with  us  unless  we  take  heed 
o'  the  fowls.  If  the  devil  happened  to  be  busy, 
we  should  tempt  him  to  steal  by  our  talkin' 
about  every  body  and  every  thing  all  the  way 
home.  Put  up  your  scare-crow  to  drive  off 
these  fowls.  Any  thing  will  do  for  that ;  only 
let  us  try  to  keep  them  off,  and  they  '11  fly. 

"Then  there  are  the  weeds:  the  chokin' 
weeds.  Sunday,  'tis  all  going  to  be  so  nice  an 
beautiful,  like  my  little  bit  of  a  garden  when 
I've  just  done  it  up.  Monday,  'tis  all  thick 
with  weeds  an'  choked  with  wild  stuff,  like 
a  place  that  hadn't  been  touched  for  a  year. 
*Tis  like  when  I've  been  ridin'  along  in  the 
train,  an'  I  could  look  out  o'  the  window,  an'  see 
the  trees  and  the  fields,  and  now  and  then  a 
glimpse  o*  the  sea,  and  you're  just  a-thinkin' 
how  pretty  it  all  is,  when  up  comes  a  bank  right 
in  front  and  shuts  all  out,  an*  there's  nothing 
there  but  the  cuttin'  o'  rock  an'  earth,  if  'tisn't  a 
dark  tunnel.  Well,  I  find  the  best  way  is  to 
come  home  trying'  to  find  something  to  do  in 
the  sermon  ;  something  to  be  prayed  for,  or 
prayed  against,  or  to  be  thought  about :  for 
after  all,  dear  friends,  God's  truth  is  worth  to 
us  only  what  we  do  with  it.      Seed  is  hard  an' 


On  Hearing  the  Word.  201 

dead  till  you  sow  it.  And  the  truth  is  dead 
words  till  it  is  done.  A  man  may  tell  me  all 
about  the  road  to  Penzance,  an'  all  about  the 
things  that  happened  there,  an'  about  the  great 
folks  who  live  alongside  of  it.  But  that  wont 
take  me  there.     I  must  get  up  and  walk. 

"  Now,  friends,  if  we  can  do  this  here,  seems 
to  me  it  '11  be  all  well  then.  For  we  shall  come 
up  ready  to  hear — we  shall  go  on  to  hear  for  our 
own  selves,  and  we  shall  come  home  again  to  try 
and  do  what  we  have  heard.  Now  let  a  man 
have  a  Sunday  like  that,  and  he'll  be  a  long 
way  on  for  having  a  good  week.  I  can  mind, 
when  I  was  up  to  London,  I  was  goin'  along  the 
noisy  streets  with  crowds  o*  people  about  me, 
an'  the  roar  an'  rattle  o'  carts  an'  things,  when 
all  of  a  sudden  there  in  the  din  and  bustle  I 
came  to  a  lovely  little  garden.  The  flowers 
were  growin'  there  beautiful,  an'  a  fountain  was 
playin'  makin'  rainbows  in  the  sunshine,  and 
the  trees  were  fresh  an'  green,  and  the  birds 
chirped  to  each  other,  and  flew  about  the  place. 
*  Ah,'  I  said  to  myself,  'they  can  keep  all  this 
right  here  in  the  heart  o'  the  busy  city ! '  And 
that's  just  how  we  can  carry  Sunday  with  us, 
friends,  all  through  the  week.     Cares  an'  wor 


202  Daniel  Quorm. 

ries  and  busy  work  will  come  about  us,  and 
keep  a-comin' ;  but  for  all  that,  in  the  heart  we 
can  keep  a  little  garden  o'  the  Lord,  where  the 
good  seed  bears  sweet  fruit,  and  the  trees  o'  the 
Lord's  own  pkntin'  grow,  planted  by  the  rivers 
o'  waters  ;  an'  where  the  singin'  o'  birds  is  heard, 
an'  where  very  often  the  voice  o'  the  Lord  God 
himself  is  heard  walkin'  even  in  the  heat  o'  oui 
busy  day." 


THE  EVD. 


